The Long Walk Home
by bsmog
Summary: Broken by his experiences in the Civil War, Edward marches with Jasper and Emmett to Gettysburg. A stolen night's sleep leads him to the girl he thinks could save him, but the battle rages on, and his duty could destroy them both. AH. Canon pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is my first attempt at this...it's a lot more fun than I thought it would be! A few small things - this is a period piece, but I promise not to bore you senseless with battlefields and history lessons. All will be explained in good (hopefully short) time. That said, I have done as much as possible to adhere to the basics of both the period and the battle and the events surrounding it.

I don't own Twilight, its characters, its plot, or anything else about it. I wish I did. I wish I owned even one teeny tiny page. But it's Stephenie Meyer's world, I'm just living in it.

**Edward**

We've been walking forever.

It feels like forever anyway. I can't remember what it feels like to have one whole day when I'm not walking. Or fighting. We only stop walking to fight. Then we bury our brothers and our cousins and our friends and pick up our wounded and start walking again. Only way a man doesn't have to keep walking is if he's hurt bad or dead.

Sometimes I look out at those dead boys all scattered across the fields of Virginia or Maryland and I think I might just like to trade places with them. They just look so peaceful laying there where they fell. Even the mounds of freshly moved soil where makeshift graves mark the final resting place for so many look soft and inviting, though they won't for long once the scavengers get to them. And their occupants don't have to walk anymore.

Of course they aren't peaceful, they're empty shells that once were men, piled one atop the other in shallow, nameless graves. But I'm empty too, and I still have to keep on walking and fighting.

It seems like decades since I lit out from home with Emmett and Jasper. We couldn't hardly get out of Providence Forge fast enough; we practically ran all the way to Richmond full of excitement and fuss to whip us some Yankees and be home in time for Christmas. We joined up with General Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia ready to march off to glory.

Really we were just marching off to die.

That was two years ago now. It's June 30, 1863 and we've been walking and fighting since the summer of 1861. We've seen dead men in the fields at Manassas and Antietam and Fredericksburg. My once-fine butternut uniform is shoddy and threadbare; it doesn't keep out the cold in winter or the bugs in summer. My stovepipe hat leaks rain with the storms that come after every battle and I consider myself lucky just to have that much. Most of the boys still left in our regiment are without hats, and many are without boots as well. I myself have walked through two pairs of boots, and I've marched a fair mile in no boots at all 'til I can find a fitting pair on some poor fallen boy that won't need 'em anymore.

"Hey! Coppertop! You even listening to me?" Emmett's booming voice rang in my ears and pulled me out of my melancholy and back to the road ahead.

"What? Sorry Emmett, what was that?" I sighed.

My cousin Emmett McCarty had been my boyhood friend. We were as much brothers as cousins, since his folks and mine lived just a stone's throw apart in Providence Forge all our lives. And Coppertop is what he'd been calling me since we were young and Emmett saw a copper pot for the first time. He took one look at that kettle, one look at my own copper-colored hair flying about my head wild in the wind, and the name stuck. I used to fight it, but it's become part of me now.

"Shoot, boy. If I didn't know any better I'da thought you were yarnin' after some girl. You look about as sad as last year's cotton." Emmett clapped me on the back a little too hard.

"Aw hell, Em!" I said sorely. "Do you have to hit me so hard? My bones have hurt since Fredericksburg, and getting swatted by you don't do me any good!" I winced as I rubbed my shoulder.

Emmett had been a blacksmith in Providence Forge, just like his father and grandfather before him. The McCarty men were all the same: gentle and kind, but strong as oxen and loud as the sound of their hammers on hot metal. When the McCartys spoke, people listened.

Em joined up thinking he could be of use in the camps, knowing his way around a hammer and a forge. And gentle as he may have been with friends and neighbors, Emmett was never one to back down from a fight, no matter how big and no matter who started it, so when word came that Virginia needed volunteers, Emmett just figured he ought to go see this fight was about.

So no one was surprised to find he had a knack for fighting, but it did comes as a mite bit of a shock to find out he had something of a knack for leading men into battle. But like I said, when the McCartys talk, people listen, even when bullets are flying by their heads. So now he's Sergeant McCarty, but Jasper and I bring him down a peg any chance we get, because we still think of him as just Em.

"C'mon Emmett," Jasper drawled. "He's not pining over any girl. There's no joy in that boy's eyes. 'Sides, when's the last time you even saw a girl wasn't chasing us off her property or else cowering in fear behind the curtains while we march by? " Emmett smirked and shrugged.

The war had done one of two things to folks that lived near the battle lines: made 'em braver or made 'em afraid. We'd seen our share of both, but I preferred the brave ones. At least they had some fight left in 'em. The ones that hid were like a mirror into my own soul, tired of the fighting and the bleeding and the killing and the dying. They just watched us scuffle by from behind broken window panes, hanging on as tight as they could to whatever trifles and trinkets ain't already been stolen or sold, and silently prayed we'd just keep walking.

"My guess? His feet are tired." Jasper looked at me meaningfully, as if to say, "I know it ain't just your feet, Edward, it's your heart too."

Jasper's knack was for sensing what people were thinking. Sometimes it was plain scary how much that boy could tell just by looking at a person. Jasper Whitlock may as well have been a brother too. His folks were killed in a barn fire in Texas when he was a little boy and my mother's heart was always big enough for one more child, being a teacher and all. So when he came to stay with a distant relation in Providence Forge until other arrangements could be made, Mama took one look at little blond Jasper with his serious face and she took him in. We thought maybe his kin would have put up a fuss, but even as a lad Jasper could tell more about a person by looking at him than most adults could abide by.

Jasper was quiet and serious, a perfect complement to Emmett's thunderous voice and mischievous behavior. When Emmett announced his intentions to join up, Jasper had nodded almost knowingly to himself and said, "Well alright then. Lemme just get my bundle and we'll go."

Shoot, he probably had known what Em was planning to do all along. But when I asked him why he wanted to go, since this wasn't our fight, Jasper just said, "Well Edward, I been in Providence Forge nearly 15 years now. I don't remember Texas, or the trip here, or my mama or my daddy much either. I don't hardly remember anything but this town, and I think I might like to see a thing or two in this life. 'Sides, somebody's gotta keep you and Em in line." And he grinned at me and sauntered off to pack his belongings.

And just like that, I was going too. I meant what I said, about this not being my war. I know Virginia followed South Carolina out of the Union in favor of state's rights, but the right they were fighting for was the right to own another man, and I couldn't abide by that. Couldn't then, can't now. My folks and Emmett's were both from the North to begin with. Emmett's father moved to from New York to Virginia to be an apprentice to an old family friend. My own parents had ventured south from Pennsylvania when word came north that teachers were scarce in some of the smaller towns in Virginia and the Carolinas.

Neither of our families owned slaves, nor did we personally know anyone that did. All the big plantations out on the road to Richmond were worked by slaves of course, but Providence Forge was a little town, and our place in it was smaller still. Blacksmiths didn't have much call for slaves, and my daddy was the town schoolmaster, so neither did we, with no land to work. And Mama liked gardening and cooking so much, she wouldn't let a soul near the little ground we did plant on, nor the kitchen either.

So even though we weren't fighting the rich man's war to own another man, the three of us lit out to fight anyway, each for our own reason. Emmett for the fight, Jasper to see the world, and me, well, I just didn't know what else to do, so I was swept along with my friends. We three had been thick as thieves our whole lives, and we'd vowed to die together if need be, but none of us would ever be alone.

"Darn right my feet hurt." I looked gratefully at Jasper, silently thanking him for keeping my demons out of the open. "We've been walking for weeks and I haven't seen the inside of a barn for a good night's sleep in just as long. I'm plumb wore out." I sighed again.

Sometimes we'd find empty houses or barns, skeletons of someone's home that had been abandoned out of fear of a raid or a battle. Most times anything of any use was already stripped clean, food, blankets, clothing, anything that'd draw a price or a trade. But just to sleep under a roof, sometimes in a bed of old straw, was like heaven for us now.

"Well Cop," Emmett said to me as he gestured to a leaning old barn ahead of us on a little lane just off the main road out of Hagerstown that we'd been walking along for what seemed like ages. "You just might be in luck. Don't look like there's any livestock left in that barn judging by the grass growing around it. House looks pretty quiet too. Maybe the folks heard we were comin' and turned tail 'til the fighting's over."

I had to agree with Emmett after examining the property a bit. The grass around the barn was more than knee-high in the late June heat, a sure sign no animals were left. The house was quiet with no smoke from an evening meal coming from the lone chimney. The windows were closed, another sign that no one was inside. The summer heat was almost as heavy as it would have been back home, and the heat shimmered across the fields and the still grasses in the evening light. It almost seemed like the world moved slower in the wavy, shiny air.

The order to stop for the night had passed along the ranks while we talked, and Em set about making sure his direct charges were set up for the night. Jasper and I had both made Corporal after Antietam, but truth be told, most of the time it just seemed like they promoted us because we lived. We weren't in charge of much, so setting up camp wasn't much of a chore. By the time Emmett finished his duties and found us again, Jasper had water boiling over a fire for tea and I was fishing through my pack for some bacon and cornmeal to cook up for supper.

"Word is General Pickett's heading us towards Gettysburg," Emmett said as he strode over the fire and crouched down wearily. "'Bout 25 miles from here the way I hear it. The Old Man's called us all there to meet the Army of the Potomac. Should be a good fight comin'." Em was cheerful in this announcement. Battles always made Emmett cheerful, especially since he discovered he had some skill in a fight.

I didn't say anything as I fried up the bacon and then dumped the cornmeal into the leftover grease to make corn cakes. Battles didn't make me cheerful. Fact was, I'd lost my stomach for fighting months ago. I was tired and empty and sad. But I couldn't go home because I had no life to go home to, and because my brothers were here, so I was here.

Jasper and I ate in silence as we listened to Emmett go on about the plans for battle and where we would go tomorrow. We were near a little town called Chambersburg, he said, and we'd head due east to Gettysburg tomorrow to engage the enemy nearby. He went on a while longer while we cleaned up our skillet, then looked around at the other men settling in our camp.

"You boys want to go see about that barn?" He lowered his voice as he jerked his chin toward the structure we'd been eyeing earlier. "Seems to me if we're headed for a big fight, the least we could have is a good night's sleep first."

Jasper and I nodded in unison. Emmett got up and stretched, making a show of heading for his camp before striding casually away. He would get to the barn in a roundabout fashion after he checked the camp one last time. I looked at Jasper and stood, hoisting my bundle over my shoulder and walking slowly in the direction of the barn. Jasper stayed sitting by the fire. He always did, giving the embers a few moments to burn away and me a few minutes' head start. We'd been lucky so far, none of the men had caught on to our routine, but we tried to be careful enough that no one would. Could be the wrong man would take it as an attempt at desertion, an offense not looked upon too kindly in our thinning ranks.

I reached the barn first and quietly pushed the door open, then sighed in relief and weariness. It was empty, and had been for some time if the smell of dank, moldy hay was any indication. I looked around as I stepped inside. Small, even by small town standards, it wouldn't have held more than a few animals, but there was a hay loft above with some promising stalks poking out through the slats over my head.

I was testing the ladder to be sure the rungs wouldn't give way as I climbed up as Emmett stuck his head through the door.

"C'mon in, Em," I said. "Nothing's been in here but mice in months." I surveyed the loft as I reached the top rung. "We'll sleep like kings tonight though!" I grinned. "Hay up here's just like new, long as you don't mind a little damp."

"Sure am glad to hear I didn't sneak all over camp for nothing," came Jasper's drawl from below.

I stuck my head over the loft's ledge and gestured for them to climb up. Once the three of us were all crowded onto the loft, it seemed even smaller than it had been, but we were settled in no time. We never risked a lantern when we snuck away; if the light didn't catch someone's attention, there was the fear that we'd drift off and the lantern would tip and set fire to the barn. Jasper made us promise we'd never try to use a light. He never said as much, but I knew he was afraid we'd end up like his folks, and he'd have to go find another family again.

"Coppertop, you got that fiddle?" Emmett's voice echoed against the corner walls where he'd unrolled his blankets.

"Sure do, Sarge," I mock-saluted Emmett in the evening shadows. "Fancy a concert, do you?"

I loved music. Back home, my parents had saved and saved for months until they could afford a piano when I was a little boy. I'd been captivated by the amazing wooden box with the black and white ivory keys that sang when I touched them. Mama had figured out quickly that I had a knack for music and had engaged another teacher in town to teach me as much as he could, but I outgrew his lessons soon and began playing more and more on my own. Music became my sanctuary in a way I could never find anywhere else. Not with Em or Jasper or any of the girls in town that had looked my way. When I played it was just me and the song of the piano keys.

I'd learned to play the fiddle too, and when we'd left home, Mama had thrust my fiddle into my arms before she ran crying back into the house. "Your music will save you, Edward," she'd said. "And when you play this, know I'll be listening for you all the way back here."

So I'd carried the fiddle in its case across hills and streams and rivers of water and blood. I'd carefully wrapped it in my blankets each time we'd gone off to fight, and then pulled it out to play a hymn for the dead before we moved on.

"Play for us, Edward. Please?" Jasper's voice came quieter from the back wall of the loft. I smiled a little at his request. My playing put us all at ease, I knew that, but it eased me most of all. I felt clear, almost alive when I played. I hadn't felt alive in months, but I could almost feel life around me for a moment when I played.

I lifted the fiddle to my chin in response and started to play softly. The sound of the bow crossing the strings was almost eerie as it echoed and bounced off the big empty woodenness of the barn walls. I played a couple of tunes I'd picked up from other soldiers along the way, switching from a slow, mournful _Oh Susannah_ to _Neil Gow's Lament_. Finally even I was tired, so I finished with one last song.

_Home Sweet Home_ had been played at every battlefield I'd been to. I'd heard it on dozens of instruments and sung by thousands of voices on both sides. As the haunting melody flowed from my strings, I heard Emmett and Jasper both start to sing quietly, almost to themselves, so I kept playing, pretending I didn't hear.

_Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,  
Be it ever so humble there's no place like home!  
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,  
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with  
elsewhere:  
Home! Home! sweet, sweet Home!  
There's no place like Home!  
There's no place like Home._

Finally I let the notes die away and I tucked the fiddle back in my pack and rolled over to face the wall of the barn. I could feel the hay pricking me through my blankets, but I didn't care. As I closed my eyes and listened to the silence outside, I was almost content. I had forgotten, even if only for a moment, that tomorrow I would get up and march off to kill or be killed. My eyes slipped closed, and I was at peace.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N Part 2:** Providence Forge is real. Home Sweet Home is both real, and was one of the most commonly sung songs on both sides of the war. The other songs were fairly common as well.

Thanks for reading...no more two-part A/Ns after this!


	2. Chapter 2

Still don't own Twilight. Still wish I did. Still SM's world, and I'm still just living in it.

**Edward**

"You boys coming down for breakfast?" I jolted awake to a voice that tinkled like the highest keys on my beloved piano coming from the barn floor below. "It's the least we could do after that lovely concert last night. It's been a long time since we've had any music, or any male company for that matter, so get yourselves down here before it gets cold."

Emmett, Jasper and I stared at each other with wide eyes. We all seemed frozen in place, unable to move, let alone respond to the still faceless voice that had caught us. We had been so sure the house was empty… Finally Jasper moved first, and went to peer over the edge, talking as he went.

"Yes ma'am, we sure are sorry ma'am," he stuttered a little as he scrambled toward the ladder to address the woman below. "We thought sure this property was empty, we wouldn't have bothered…," his voice dropped off as he looked down. "Well I'll be," he said under his breath, so soft I didn't think he meant for Em or me to hear.

Emmett and I broke out of our frozen positions while Jasper talked and moved to stick our own heads over the edge of the loft. As we took in the view below, my eyes met those of a tiny woman, barely more than a girl by the look of her. She was certainly no older than the three of us and not shoulder high to Jasper, who was the smallest of all of us. But her little voice carried all the strength of any great lady I'd ever seen. She stood there looking at us expectantly through huge, sparkling green eyes, hands on hips.

"I'm Alice," she said.

Jasper hadn't moved since he first caught sight of her, but with those words, he seemed to come back to himself. He slowly backed down the ladder, steadying his breath and his face as he descended. By the time he got to where Alice was standing, he looked almost himself again.

"Hello Miss Alice," he drawled, taking her outstretched hand and bowing over it. "My name's Jasper. And these two," he pointed up first at Emmett, then at me. "Are Emmett and Edward. And we'd be most pleased to join you for breakfast if it pleases you." He smiled then, and Alice smiled back, straight into his eyes as if he was the only man in the barn. In the world even.

"Hello Jasper," she said, keeping his hand in her own little one as she turned her body toward the door, still not looking away from Jasper's face. "I've been waiting for you."

With that she led him out the door. Emmett and I looked at each other with puzzled looks on our faces.

"Now what the devil do you think she meant by that?" Emmett asked me as we climbed down. "How could she have been waiting for him? It ain't as though anyone knew we'd be here. Or that we'd sneak into this barn. Hell, we don't know a soul in Pennsylvania, and neither does Jasper!" Emmett was still shaking his head when I jumped off the last rung of the ladder and faced him.

"I've no clue Em," I said. "But the lady offered us breakfast. _Hot_ breakfast, need I mention. And I ain't about to pass up home cooked vittles OR a little female company just because that girl's a little off." I turned toward the door to follow after Jasper and odd little Alice, and Emmett followed. It seemed the idea that there might be something other than bacon and corn cakes appealed to my cousin as much as it did me.

I walked out into yard and squinted into the bright early morning sun. It was already hot and figured to be a long hot march to this Gettysburg. Remembering that we'd have to start walking again put a damper on my good humor, and I stalked toward the house. Emmett had to step lively to keep up. The house was pretty, if a bit small, crafted of brick with white painted shutters around every window. The door was around the other side of the structure from the barn, and I rounded the corner blindly, so intent I was on following the smell of breakfast, and collided with something soft and at the same time angular.

Suddenly I found myself lying on my back in the grass looking up into brightly lit patches of white against the blue of the morning sky.

"What the devil…?" I jerked my head around angrily, trying to figure out what had just happened. I sat up and dusted off my jacket and had just started to rise, when I was stopped dead by a voice behind me.

"My goodness sir," the voice said. "Such language! I should expect better manners from the gentleman that provided us with such a lovely serenade last night." Then she began to laugh.

I turned my head up towards that beautiful sound and all breath and thought and sense left me.

_This must be what an angel looks like. _I thought to myself. The girl above me was perhaps the most wonderful sight I had ever laid eyes on. She was not beautiful in the way we had been taught to see it back home. She was not made up or dressed in hoop skirts with each hair tucked away to perfection. She wore a simple linen dress covered by a faded apron of blue. Her hair and eyes were the rich warm brown of the wood on my fiddle, and her skin was freckled by the sun, not the pale white of a southern belle. The girls back home had all sorts of tricks to hide their freckles, soaking their skin with milk-coated rags to fade the color out of their skin. And yet I found myself wanting to trace each little dot on this stranger's pretty, sun-kissed face with my fingertips.

She stared down at me with big dark eyes that bored into my soul until finally she crinkled her forehead and said, "I was only making a little fun, sir. I certainly did not mean to offend." She sighed and her shoulders slumped, bringing me out of my reverie. She turned her back to me then and started fussing with her hair, which had slipped in strands from the net that held it and was flying about her face in the breeze. I envied every strand that brushed her cheeks and caught on her lips.

"Begging your pardon, miss," I stumbled up off the ground and managed a sad little bow as she turned her face back to me. "I wasn't expecting to see anyone. I was heading inside for breakfast you see, following Miss Alice, that is, and I …" I broke off to the sound of Emmett's laughter coming from behind me. Suddenly I remembered he had been at my heels. I must have only been on the ground for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. Like a new lifetime, full of hope and promise and color and beauty, where my life a moment before had been gray and sad and desperate.

The girl looked at Emmett and then back at me and seemed to regain a bit of her fire. She turned to Emmett again and said, "I'm certainly glad I could amuse you, Sergeant," Emmett's eyebrows rose when she addressed him by his rank. "I didn't hear your name?" She said it as a question, and it was Emmett's turn to be caught unawares.

"Your pardon, ma'am," Emmett said politely, eyes shifting from me to this beautiful new stranger. "I'm Emmett. Emmett McCarty. This here," he pointed at me with a little smirk. Emmett never could stay serious for long. "This here's my cousin, Edward. He ain't usually so likely to end up on the ground, but then again, he ain't usually so silent either. Seems you've had an effect on him, ma'am."

He laughed again and eyed her expectantly in such a way I thought he might be hoping she'd make a fuss at him. I rolled my eyes in spite of myself. Honestly, sometimes you'd have thought that boy had no manners. His mama would switch him if she could hear him now!

"Indeed Sergeant, it would seem that way," we looked back at the girl as she bent down to gather her wash basket up from the ground where it must have fallen when I barreled into her. Looking around, I realized she'd been hanging laundry out to dry when I'd rounded the corner. Sheets and stockings and aprons fluttered in the breeze from the line strung between two trees. I found myself staring at those sheets, wondering if she'd slept in them. Wondering if she'd wrapped herself in them as she dreamed. I wanted to wrap myself in her and sleep for a hundred years, and I didn't even know her name. And it certainly wasn't proper for me to be thinking of anyone that way, much less a stranger. I flushed and stooped to pick up a fallen rag from the grass and handed it to her. She smiled as she took it, and our fingers brushed.

In that moment, everything disappeared. The wash, the rag, the sheets and aprons, Emmett, the hot sun, the smell of a home cooked meal, even the war. The brush of her fingers against mine started my heart racing and sent chills and heat through my body all at once. Time stood still and I lost myself in her eyes as the feel of her touch coursed through my blood. And when she spoke again, it seemed that every word that would ever leave her lips was only for me.

"Hello Edward. I'm Bella."

**A/N: **So our star-crossed pair meets. *Sigh*

The first two chapters were one at one point, but it seemed like too much, so I went with this instead. Forgive any errors...no beta means I have to edit myself, and spellcheck is fairly worthless when antiquated contractions come into play.

We'll hear from Miss Bella next, with a chance for a sprinkle of Miss Alice. I won't be posting Chapter 3 as quickly as Chapter 2 came out, but I'll do my best to get on it!

Thanks for reading...reviews make Edward and Jasper stutter... :)


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay...life got in the way, and Bella didn't want to make her debut. As always, Stephenie Meyer's world, characters, story, etc. I just live in it. And take the crew in a time machine.

**Bella**

Alice had disappeared into the house with the fair-haired man following close behind her. The way they looked at each other, you might have thought they'd known each other their whole lives. Alice didn't even look in my direction as she led the man through the door by the hand, and I shook my head as I started to turn back around towards my chores.

I'd been hanging the sheets out to dry when Alice announced that she planned to go roust our visitors and ask them in for breakfast.

"We enjoyed their music so much, Bella, although of course they have no idea. I should think anyone who played so beautifully should at least get a decent meal," Alice was spinning through the sheets with excitement. "Besides, when was the last time you felt as happy as you looked while that boy played his fiddle last night?" I blushed at her words and turned away in a mix of embarrassment and…something else. Excitement? Anticipation? Eagerness at the idea of company? Truth be told, it'd been a while since we'd had visitors of any kind.

Alice's sister Rosalie had snuck out into the barn in the night to size up our guests.

"Long as they don't look too hard, they can stay," Rose had said as she loaded the pistol Papa had left with me when he left so long ago. When she came back into the house moments later, she was grinning. "Why they're almost nothing but boys," she said. "And they're all sleeping so sound, I hadn't the heart to wake them anyway. We'll see what we can see in the morning."

With that reassurance, plus Rosalie sleeping with the pistol by her head in the big bed we all shared sometimes, we went to sleep without another thought.

So I just nodded at Alice as she walked purposefully to the barn without a whit of fear and laughed a little under my breath. Those three didn't know what was coming for them. Alice was small, shorter than I and slight of build, but she had the presence of President Lincoln himself. Once she set her mind to inviting our barn guests in for breakfast, they would be lucky to make it back to their company before it marched right on without them. Company and news was scarce, and visitors that weren't about to poke their noses where they didn't belong were even scarcer. Once upon a time we three would have been terrified at the idea of three strange men so close to the house at night, but now I found myself smoothing my apron and dress and trying to tuck wayward pieces of hair back into the net at the nape of my neck. It wouldn't do to appear unkempt in front of any company, even these soldiers.

How much the war had changed things. Before this awful war, we three would never have lived all but alone in the home of my widower father, who spent most of his time in Washington as personal advisor to one of Pennsylvania's congressional delegates.

My father Charles Swan (everyone in town still called him Charlie) had been the sheriff in Chambersburg, and fast friends with William Black, who had been mayor most of my life. When Mr. Black left Chambersburg to try his hand at bigger politics and met with some success, he asked my father to come along to Washington. Billy and Charlie had been a force to be reckoned with in our town for years; it stood to reason they'd have the same effect in Washington. And so of course, Papa agreed.

Of course it was different back then. Papa and Mr. Black left in 1860, before the war started. And before they'd left I'd married Mr. Black's son Jacob. Jacob had always been my only beau; he'd asked me to marry him for the first time when we were just children, and wanted to place a worm around my finger to seal the contract. I'd accepted his proposal then, only I begged him to keep the worm, and I accepted again when he'd asked me ten years later, with a band of gold this time instead of a worm.

Jacob was strong and kind and handsome, with eyes like endless pools of black ink that could bore straight into my heart; the catch of the county, everyone said, and I'd caught him early and never let go. We moved into Papa's house together, since he would be away most of the time. Jacob farmed the fields and tended our few cows and chickens and I cooked and kept house. And we were happy and in love in our simple existence.

And then the war came.

I'd begged Jacob not to go, pleaded that there were other men and boys without wives that loved them. But as much as Jacob loved me, he hated the notion that a man thought it his right to own another man even more. So even though I begged and cried and shouted and carried on in a terrible way, he went anyway, because it was what was right.

It was the first time in our whole lives that Jacob had not given in to what I wanted. And so, being a young bride and stupidly naïve, I punished him. When the morning came that he was to leave, I refused to leave our bed. When he tried to speak to me, I turned my back to him. When he came to kiss me farewell, I lay there unmoving, refusing to meet his gaze or return his affections. I knew if I looked into those big black eyes I'd start to cry, and I didn't want to give him even that much.

It wasn't until after he walked out of our bedroom with one last "I love you always, Bells. You're always with me here," as he covered his heart with his palm that I let my tears fall. I sat at the front window for three days, tears slipping soundlessly down my cheeks, praying that my husband would come back so I could say goodbye properly. So I could tell him I loved him and how I would miss him and pray every day that he would come back safely to me. But after the third day, I knew he was gone, and I ordered myself to stop crying and go back to living the life that Jacob and I had built.

When Jacob left, Papa sent me a letter to say he'd come home and instructing me to go to town to stay with and old family friend, Sue, and her daughters, Rosalie and Alice.

I loved Sue like a mother; in fact she'd been the other mother I'd known growing up, since Mama died when I was about two giving birth to my little brother who died right along with her. And Rosalie and Alice were like sisters. Sue had a fondness for my father that transcended the bonds of old friends or of widow and widower mourning their lost loves. I think she'd have liked to marry Papa, but some part of his heart died with Mama and my nameless baby brother. I know he's fond of Sue too, but he's always said he married for life, and that he'd be with his bride again in the next one. Then again, this wretched war has changed people's minds on a lot of other things. Perhaps there's hope for Papa and Sue as well.

But I begged Papa and Sue to let me stay at home. What if Jacob came home and I wasn't there? What if a letter came straight to the house instead of to town, or if he sent word to me with someone he met along the way, and I wasn't there to receive his messages?

So I came up with the notion that Rosalie and Alice could come out and stay with me on the farm so I wouldn't be alone, and to my very great surprise, both Sue and Papa agreed. It turned out later that Sue used the excuse of having her daughters with me to take a trip of her own to Washington, and she'd been taking care of Papa and acting as his companion ever since.

It made all three of us girls happy to know our parents had found some peace and comfort in one another, if not love, so the arrangement worked out for all of us.

Even though Jacob and I had parted badly, he wrote to me faithfully, telling me of the places he passed through, the people he met, the men in his company. He never mentioned the day he left home, and signed every letter with "I love you Bells. I'll be coming home to you soon."

For almost a year and a half his letters came. Rose and Alice and I kept the house and yard as best we could. We sold off the cattle and chickens, and a neighbor paid a lease price to work the farm land. We read books and news of the war and knitted socks for the soldiers. Rosalie developed a fascination with the strategy involved in the war, and she poured over the newspapers Papa sent to us from Washington and muttered about "what the President was thinking giving the army to the likes of that little hothead McClellan," or how "that General Lee will whip us for certain if someone doesn't stop him marching north into Union land."

Then, sometime in May, Jacob's letters stopped coming. About the same time, Rosalie read a report that said that, although some survivors were likely unaccounted for in the fray, almost all of Jacob's company had been in the thick of the fighting on Marye's Heights at Chancellorsville, and that those that hadn't been killed in the initial volleys had lain in the fields with their wounds in the open night air, pinned by the Confederates in heaving fighting against the hill and unable to escape to camp. Most of those had died where they lay and were thrown into hastily dug mass graves.

I knew that if Jacob died in the war, I probably would not be able to bury him, but I assumed I would at least know that he had died, and perhaps where he was laid to rest. But that was another thing this war changed. We never knew if our men would come home to us alive, but we knew that if they didn't, we would likely never see anything from them again. Perhaps a small keepsake if a sympathetic soldier from the same company could get a button or a handkerchief and find a way to send it home. But as often as not, there was nothing but a name on a list of the dead to mark that a husband or father or son or brother had ever lived at all.

Rosalie and Alice accompanied me without fail week in and week out to town to read the new lists sent in from the Army. Jacob's name never showed up on the roster of casualties. But his letters never started coming again, either. Mr. Black even used his now-considerable amount of influence in Washington to inquire after his son, but to no avail.

Days went by without a letter. Days turned to weeks, and weeks have turned to months. I haven't had a letter from my husband in nearly three months. Truth be told, I gave up hope weeks ago that I'd get some word that he was wounded but all right. It was my due after all, being a wicked wife that denied her husband a proper goodbye, that the last memory I'd have of my husband was of my cruelty to him. It weighed on my heart like an anchor, and with each passing day without word from Jacob, I felt emptier inside until finally, a few weeks ago, I thought I must know what it was like to be as dead as my husband must be. I hadn't laughed or smiled in days. I had no appetite for food or drink. All I wanted to do was sleep, but once asleep all I dreamed of was Jacob's haunting black eyes staring balefully from a face covered in blood and his voice, raspy with death, that kept saying, "You see, my Bella? I told you I'd be coming to you soon. Didn't you miss me, my sweet? I came back for my last kiss…"

And I woke screaming or crying every night from the same dream.

I shuddered in the morning sunlight thinking of my dreams. I found solace in my daily chores because I was awake, and even my worst thoughts couldn't match the horrors of my dreams. Jacob was gone, and the hole in my heart throbbed with pain each time I thought of his kind eyes looking into mine or of his soft lips pressed against my mouth or the skin at my throat. I sighed wistfully. We were so young; we had so much life ahead of us. And now I would spend it alone, a widow, never to feel a man's touch again. For who would want me now?

I busied myself with the last of the sheets from the line and I turned for the house as I picked up the heavy laundry basket. I felt the hands that were wrapped around my basket collide with something hard and warm and scratchy and I lost my grip as I realized I had just met another of our guests. He had caught the side of the basket as he came around the corner from the back of the house, and he spun as he slipped to the grass.

I giggled as I collected myself and appraised the man on the ground at my feet. The first company we've had in months, and my clumsy nature takes over. I could hear Alice and Rosalie in my head, "Leave it to Bella to knock a man off his feet before he ever laid eyes on her," they would giggle.

His face was turned away from me, and I took a moment to take him in. He had a shock of tawny red hair the color of a shiny penny. His coat of dirty gray wool – that had been the scratchy fabric I felt as we collided – was stretched across broad shoulders that gave way to a lean frame. His clothes were so threadbare I could see his muscles flexing as he tried to gather himself up. He cursed as he turned.

""My goodness sir," I admonished. "Such language! I should expect better manners from the gentleman that provided us with such a lovely serenade last night." I gasped as the words flew from my mouth. When had I become so brazen? That was certainly no way to speak to a stranger! And yet I was shocked to find myself laughing. Laughing! When had I last laughed that way?

The man at my feet finally twisted around on the ground to look up at me, and the laughter died on my lips. The wild copper mane atop his head gave way to sharp green eyes filled with confusion. It was as though someone had plucked a leaf from an old oak tree in August and wrung its color into his eyes. His cheekbones and jaw line were strong and sharp, exaggerated by the hollowed-out look of hungry soldiers that we'd all come to know in recent months.

He began to speak, really more stutter an apology and hastily scrambled to his feet, bowing his head as he rose. I stared at his lips as a voice as soft and sweet and sad as the fiddle's songs from the night before poured from them. I was hypnotized by the sound of his words, by the movements of his mouth and tongue as he spoke, licking his lips nervously.

I was shocked to feel my heart racing and my face coloring as I stared at the man I'd collided with. In that moment, my own life came rushing back to me, and Jacob's face floated through my mind. My shoulders slumped and tears pricked in my eyes for a moment as I was filled with guilt. He was the last person that had made me laugh, the last person that had made my heart race and my cheeks color. And here I stood, in the shadow of the home we had shared together, reduced to blushes in the face of a complete stranger. And a Rebel no less!

It wasn't until the second man, big and muscular and thick like a bear, but with kind eyes, started to laugh at our encounter that I realized that the beautiful stranger in front of me wasn't alone. His raucous laughter shook me from my stupor, and I gathered my thoughts as he continued to laugh. Well that just wouldn't do. No one comes to my home and gets the last laugh at my expense!

"I'm certainly glad I could amuse you, Sergeant," I'd taken in the striped v-shaped bands on his shoulder and put them together with his rank. Even though Rosalie's near-obsession with the war could be wearing at times, it was nice to use the product of her rants to gain the upper hand with officers that thought a silly girl like me wouldn't know just how high or low they really stood among their men.

The big man was taken aback too, but he recovered quickly, introducing himself politely as Emmett McCarty. His eyes followed mine back to his friend, who had gone silent and red-faced at Emmett's laughter.

Emmett smirked. "This here's my cousin, Edward. He ain't usually so likely to end up on the ground, but then again, he ain't usually so silent either. Seems you've had an effect on him, ma'am."

My pulse quickened again. Was I having an effect on this beautiful man? I fervently hoped so, and blushed again even as I thought it. I couldn't believe my own responses! _Bella, you have no right to behave this way! _I admonished myself. _If it were at all practical for farm life, you would be wearing the blacks of a widow, and yet here you stand, practically on display for complete strangers!_

"It would seem so, Sergeant," I responded vaguely. I looked around then and realized the sheets from the line were in a heap on the ground next to the basket. I bent to pick them up, brushing off grass and dirt as I placed them back in the basket to take inside. Edward bent to help me, still not speaking. He stretched his hand out to me to hand me one last rag from the bottom of the pile. My eyes widened as his fingers brushed mine. The places where our skin touched tingled and burned, and the blood in my veins under his touch boiled and crashed all the way to my heart, causing it to skip and beat wildly.

Edward's eyes widened and he stared at me. I felt certain I heard his breath catch, and somewhere in my mind I was praying he would start breathing again. _Breathe. _I pleaded in my head. _Breathe and speak to me and touch me and kiss me and stay here with me forever._ In that one touch, I had seen a whole new future. A future filled with this Edward and his touch and the way he made me feel. I felt like I stared into his eyes for a lifetime.

Tears pricked in my eyes again as my heart battled against itself. I had been married. I had loved Jacob my whole life; I loved him still! He was gone and I was heartbroken and my life would never be the same.

But in this stranger's touch, for the first time since Jacob walked out of our room two years ago, I felt peace and safety, and I longed for it again.

He was still staring at me as I pulled my hand away and placed the rag gently atop the laundry pile in my arms. We had to move, I knew that. We had to go inside and have breakfast and these men would have to go back to their company and back to where they came from. But this moment, this moment was ours. Edward's and mine.

As I rolled his name around in my mind, I realized I'd never given my own in response to Emmett's introductions. So I looked up into Edward's eyes, and although I spoke loudly enough for Emmett to hear me, I felt like my voice was meant only for this man.

"Hello Edward. I'm Bella."

Just then hoofbeats came into hearing and all three of our heads snapped toward the long path from the front of the house to the road. Edward and Emmett gaped at the sight of the tall beautiful woman astraddle the lathered mare. Whether they gaped at her beauty as her fair hair streamed behind her in the wind as she galloped, or at her garments, I could not say. Rosalie had taken to dressing in Jacob's old clothes around the farm. They were - had been - of a height, and Rosalie said skirts only got in her way when she was riding or working. She wore dresses in the evenings after chores, or when we all went to town together. This morning though, she'd ridden out for news, and the fastest way was astride our mare, Victoria, which meant she'd dressed from Jacob's drawers. Rose was tall for a woman, though not broad as Jacob had been. His britches were the right length, but were held about her waist with a piece of the same line the laundry hung from. His shirts had been so large that once we had become convinced that there was no changing Rose's mind about wearing a man's clothes, Alice had taken a few of them in so they fit Rose a bit better.

The men were still staring open-mouthed as Rosalie rode up and leapt from Victoria's back. She tossed the reins to Emmett and said, "If you wouldn't mind obliging a lady, Sergeant," she grinned at me, "would you please unsaddle my fine mount here and put her in the pasture behind the barn? I know you know where it is, seeing as how you slept so soundly in it last night." She turned on her heel and was halfway to the front door when she called over her shoulder. "When you're through, come on in for breakfast. The way I hear it, there's a battle that will require your attention, and it wouldn't do to send a soldier away hungry!"

Emmett had colored at the mention of their night in the barn, but talk of a battle seemed to snap him out of his shock. He looked meaningfully at Edward. "Well you heard the lady, Top," he said. "Best get in and get some breakfast from these fine people before we have to head back."

As Emmett pulled Victoria towards the little fenced pasture outside the barn, I looked up at Edward and inhaled shakily. He looked down at me, more sure of himself now, and held out his elbow smartly, as though he were escorting me to a ball instead of to my own kitchen. He smiled down at me and said, "Well, Miss Bella. Shall we?"

I reached up and timidly placed my hand in the crook of his arm, and we walked that way, arm in arm toward the front of the house, as though we'd been doing it all our lives.

**A/N: **Okay, now they're both caught up. No more dialog repeats after this, I just had to get them both through their meeting. If you're still reading at this point, thank you! Now that the scene is set, we'll have more action, less description. I think. :)

Jasper and Alice will tell you about their unchaperoned time in the kitchen soon. They've been getting to know each other a bit first.

I'm hoping not to take two weeks before the next update...depends on if my life will listen to me and stop interfering with my fanfic habit.


	4. Chapter 4

If you got an alert because of this, I heartily apologize, but this has been bothering me all day...in my airport induced haze yesterday I forgot to mention that I own nothing except the date I enter into the time machine when S. Meyer lets the crew come out and play. So yeah. Not even a teensy bit mine.

**Alice**

"I think I dreamed of you."

I was darting around the kitchen trying to busy myself with breakfast preparations so I could assemble my thoughts. I dragged this boy into my, well, Bella's house by the hand as though I'd known him my whole life. I practically shoved him into a chair at the table, all the while, my mind was whirling.

I had been excited about inviting our barn guests in for breakfast even before Jasper's face appeared at the edge of the loft. I froze inside when I saw him, but I forced myself to stay calm on the outside. I couldn't have our visitors leaving before we got to know them.

Especially now.

The disheveled fair-haired man at the table continued to look at me without speaking. He hadn't spoken since he sat down to watch me in the kitchen. His eyes, grey like the barrel of the gun he'd left in the front room, followed me as I assembled plates of food. Cornbread with molasses, and fruit from the orchard at Dr. Cullen's farm up the road. It wasn't much, but from the look of these three, it was more than they'd seen in days.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, ma'am, but if it's your dream that's got me sittin' on the first real chair I've seen in near to two years, I'm much obliged."

I whirled to face him when he spoke, nearly dropping the kettle of hot water I was carefully removing from the stove.

"Forgive me, that must have seemed an odd thing to say," I felt my cheeks color and I turned back to the stove to hide my shame. "It's only…well," I sighed.

I had always had a bit of an odd bent toward dreaming things that happened later. Usually they were small things, things that could easily be explained away by coincidence, like the arrangement of blossoms on a flowering bush or the price of something at the market. But the moment I saw Jasper peering over the barn loft, I'd recognized his face from a dream I'd been having night after night. It wasn't a clear dream; I couldn't remember anything important about the events or how I felt, but when I woke up, I could always see a man's face. It was a kind face, gentle despite the intensity of his steel-hued gaze. The dream was the reason I told him I'd been waiting for him. Every time I awoke from that dream, I found myself hoping that someday that man would come into my life. And now here he was, not five steps away, at my table.

I chanced a look back over my shoulder again to see Jasper still watching me, smiling now.

I couldn't help but smile back as I walked to the table and set a plate of food in front of him and carefully poured steaming coffee into a cup. It wouldn't do to spill the coffee; it was one of our most treasured treats. Real coffee had been replaced by chicory for most folks during the war, but Mr. Black and Bella's daddy, Charlie, sent us a little from Washington when they could.

"Sometimes I dream of things before they happen," I said bluntly as I sat down across the small table with my own plate. I sighed inside as I said it, certain that Jasper would be disbelieving at best, if not downright alarmed at my admission. I glanced up through my eyelashes to gauge his reaction, but he was just watching me as he picked up his cornbread.

"Sometimes I can tell what people are thinking about just by looking in their eyes," he said and took a bite of his breakfast.

I've had people react many different ways when I have tried to tell them about my dreams, but this was the first time anyone didn't react at all. I felt a mix of surprise and gratitude towards my breakfast guest and felt myself smiling at him again while he ate.

I watched a bit nervously as he chewed. These poor boys had been eating campfire food for two years. It wouldn't do for their first proper meal in ages to be unappetizing. I wasn't disappointed. Jasper's eyelashes fluttered as his eyes rolled up in his head just a little and he sighed as he swallowed his first bite.

"Miss Alice, this is just heaven," he said. "And here I thought we seceded from the Union on account of Yankees not bein' able to make good cornbread." He smiled impishly at me and took another bite.

"Thank you Jasper," I laughed with him and began to eat as well. "Please, just call me Alice. Adding the Miss on the front of my name makes me feel spinsterly, and we have enough trouble with that around here all on our own."

When Rose and I moved our belongings out here to stay with Bella after her husband went to war, we were the talk of the town for a while. The ladies in town were by turns fascinated that we were content to live alone, away from the bustle of town (and by that they meant eligible men), and scandalized that we were left to ourselves with no proper chaperoning to speak of. Oh they were polite enough when they saw us in town each week when we went with Bella to check the new casualty lists for word of Jacob, but as soon as they thought we were out of earshot, they were abuzz about what a shame is was that we'd given up on finding good husbands so young.

"About that, M…_Alice_," Jasper stammered to correct himself, and I smiled encouragingly. I appreciated his acquiescence to that request almost as much as I did his acceptance of my dreams. "Not that we ain't obliged to join you fine ladies for breakfast, and a delicious one it is at that," he began soaking up stray drops of molasses with the last crumbs of his cornbread for emphasis. "But exactly how is it that three ladies like yourselves saw fit to let three Reb scruffs like us spend the night in your barn without a ruckus? You said you heard Edward fiddlin' last night, so you knew all night we were out there. Why not chase us out?"

Jasper studied me earnestly while he waited for my response. I sighed. I had expected one of them to ask, but I'd hoped it wouldn't be me that had to explain.

"We've learned the hard way that the color of the uniform on a man doesn't make him a good man, Jasper. Nor a bad one. The measure of a man's in the actions he takes, not what side he's on, and you all didn't do a thing to lead us to believe you'd bring us any harm," I stopped, hoping he would take this answer in stride as he had the last one and we could move on to happier matters. The furrow in his tanned brow didn't give me much hope though, and when he put down the peach he'd been eating to watch me more closely, I knew further explanation would be required.

"Not too long ago, maybe two weeks now, we were cleaning up after supper when we heard some noise in the yard. Victoria was skittering and whinnying, and when Rosalie, that's my sister, you'll meet her presently I should think…what was I saying?" I didn't know why I was afraid to tell him what happened. None of it had been our fault and we'd done nothing shameful, but the memory was like ice in my chest.

"There was noise coming from the pasture," Jasper prompted me darkly. His voice, so melodic and gentle moments before, had taken on a sharp, raspy tone.

"Right," I rushed on. "Rosalie heard them first and sent Bella and I to the window to look out and there were two men in Union blue uniforms trying to coax Victoria out the gate. Wouldn't you know, about the same time Bella put her head out the window to see, one of them turned around and saw us. I'm ashamed to say they lost interest in the horse just then and turned for the house." I shuddered as I remembered the dirty men stalking towards the door.

"_Well my, my, look at what we have here, James. Two little fillies instead of just one. And these two are mighty fine to boot. Mighty fine indeed." The shorter of the two men licked his lips as he spoke, and I could see yellowing teeth behind his dirty lips. _

_The taller man, James, spat tobacco through his teeth as he eyed Bella and me lazily. We were frozen where we stood at the window, hands clutching beneath the sill in fear. We'd had soldiers come through before, but they were usually polite, if a bit rough around the edges, and they appreciated a sip of water or a cool cloth as they went on their way. But we'd never seen the likes of these two, and they terrified us._

"_Lucky for us, Laurent," James said as he strode up to the window and cupped my chin with his dirty fingers, "there's one for each of us." They both laughed then, and I felt Bella's hand squeeze mine even tighter as I fought to jerk my chin free. James dug his filthy fingernails into the skin at my jaw as I tore away, and tears pricked my eyes as he scratched. _

"_Begging your pardon gentlemen," Rose's voice suddenly rang out clear and strong from the doorway to our left. "I think it's time you were leaving, and I'll thank you not to lay another hand on my sister."_

_Rosalie leaned casually against the door frame. She wore her customary daytime garb from Jacob's wardrobe, and her fair hair flowed around her shoulders like a mane. She looked almost queenly standing there, making a decree to her subjects. _

_James eyed Rose up and down, then turned back to his friend. "Our luck just keeps getting better, eh Laurent? One more beauty to go around." Laurent was licking his lips and rubbing his hands together as his eyes flickered from Bella's face to mine to Rose's. He reached out a hand towards Bella, but stopped short as Rose's voice cut the silence again._

"_Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time, soldier," she said. "I believe I told you both you weren't welcome here. Now get." The sweetness was gone from her tone, and the tension in her neck and jaw belied her easy stance. _

"_Now listen here, missy," James turned to face Rose at the same time he reached his hand back out to grab at my bosom. My breath caught and I felt the color drain from my face. A small sob erupted from Bella's throat and I felt a silent tear fall on our hands. "You can do this the easy way or the hard way, but no matter what, you're going to do it my way. You'd best get used to it 'fore I have to hurt one of your little sisters here. I'd sure hate to mess up these pretty faces."_

_He turned back to me and closed the space between us, pushing his face down towards my neck. I could smell the vile stale tobacco smell from his mouth and the dirt and sweat on his face. My heart raced in terror as I struggled to pull away._

"_Just hold still little one," James said and then put out his tongue and licked my neck. "It'll hurt less if you just be a good girl and hold still."_

_I began to cry then, as I felt his sticky saliva drying on my skin. The trail his tongue had left on my neck crawled as though covered in ants. I struggled and fought against his grip, thankful all the while that the wall below the window still stood between us. Bella was trying to pummel him with her fists, but Laurent had taken her wrists between his own grimy hands and was holding her off._

_Suddenly I heard a crunch and James sagged against me, his eyes bulging as his body went limp. Laurent's own eyes bulged as he released Bella and watched his compatriot slump to the earth. _

"_I told you to get. You have to the count of five to do as I say, sir, or I'll not use the same end of this gun on you." Rosalie stood in front of me, holding the pistol in her hand by the barrel. The handle was slick and shiny with blood, and I realized why my attacker had fallen. I looked down at James and saw blood and bone trickling in rivulets to the dirt. She'd hit him so hard she'd cracked his skull. Rose calmly turned the gun around pointed it at Laurent._

"_One."_

_The little man stared down at his friend and then back up at my sister._

"_Two."_

_Bella's hand found mine again below the window sill._

"_Three. You'd better start running," Rose said and she cocked the hammer on the gun._

"_Four."_

_Laurent's eyes got even wider with the click of the hammer. The noise must have jerked him from his shock, because he turned tail and ran down the path to the road like a man running for his life._

"_Five."_

_Rosalie pointed the barrel of the pistol in the air and pulled the trigger. Laurent fell to the ground with a shout, then rolled over, pawing at his body in search of some blood or an entrance wound. When none appeared, he jumped up and started running again. Rose chuckled bitterly before turning back to Bella and me._

"_Alice, I'm so sorry I didn't hit him sooner!" Tears welled up in her eyes then, even as her voice shook with rage. "Are you alright? That monster should never have laid a hand on you. I ought to shoot him for good measure." She looked down at James's limp form and moved to point the pistol again. _

"_Rose, no," I put out a hand. "I'm alright. No harm done. If you shoot him now, it's murder, and if you go to jail, who will save us next time?" I smiled weakly, trying to make my sister believe the words I myself could not. It was true no harm had really come to me, but the terror I'd felt in that moment took root in my heart. _

"_Is he…" Bella's voice shook as she wiped her tears on the back of her hand and looked down at James. "Rose, is he dead?"_

"_He's breathing, Bells, much as I wish he wasn't," Rosalie sighed. "I suppose I'd best go down and get Doc Cullen. He can dress the wound and take our friend to town, to the sheriff. Don't worry, Alice. I'm not going to kill him. You hold tight to this and go inside. Shut the windows and bolt the door and don't open them for anyone until I get back with the doc. I guess we'll leave him there; I don't imagine he'll be getting up anytime soon."_

_Rose handed me the pistol and put her hand on my cheek. "I'm sorry, sugar." Her eyes filled with tears as she patted my face and turned towards the paddock._

_A moment later the sound of Victoria's hooves clattering down the path told us she'd gone, and Bella closed the window. I bolted the door, and we sat down to wait in silence, the pistol on the table between us._

"So last night when Rose heard sounds from the barn, she sat at the window for a while to make certain you weren't coming toward the house." I looked at Jasper then. I'd been staring at the crumbs on his plate, unwilling to meet his gaze in my shame. What I saw when I lifted my eyes brought tears to them again. Jasper's face was contorted in agony, and tears ran silently down his own cheeks, spilling over thick dark lashes from stormy eyes.

"It was the music that soothed us," I willed myself to keep speaking, to finish my story without anymore tears. "Even Rose figured that such sweet songs couldn't come from anyone who'd want to hurt us. So when the music stopped, she gave you a few moments to fall asleep and then she went out to the barn to size you up."

"Did she have the pistol?" Jasper smiled a little as he asked.

I smiled back. He understood.

"Yes. And I'm certain she would have used it if you'd woken and tried anything. But she came back not long after and said you looked harmless enough. In truth, breakfast is all we have to say thank you."

"For the music? That was just Edward," Jasper said. "Unless you could hear Em and I singing along, in which case I heartily apologize." He smiled a little wider, and his eyes softened.

I watched, rather than felt my hand reach across the table and brush the remaining tears from his face.

"Not for the music, although it was beautiful," I whispered. "As long as you were out there, we hoped it meant no one else would be. We thought that if you heard someone like James, you'd come out and help us. So no, not just for the music. For the safety. For just choosing our barn. For finally finding me."

He lifted his hand from the table and covered mine, still resting on his cheek.

"Alice," he said gently, "I think you're what I've been looking for all along."

* * *

**A/N: **First and foremost, thank you to my lovely beta, **averysubtlegift. **Her super-speedy beta skills are the reason this chapter is posted at least two days earlier than planned, and her Twitter rec is why some of you are here. If you aren't reading her fic _The Price of Balance, _click the green button and tell me what you thought, and then go read it...it's lovely!

To those of you that have added and reviewed, I also thank you. Every little alert notice makes me jump up and down and shriek a little. Even at work. :)

Thank you for reading...I love hearing from all of you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything except the date on the time machine. Thanks to Stephenie Meyer for creating characters I could take back in time with me.**

Edward

Bella and I strolled arm in arm across her yard to the door of her house. I felt almost…human again, walking across the grass with a pretty girl on my arm. I could almost forget the horrors I'd seen in the last two years, the terrible things I'd done in the name of Virginia and the Confederacy and behind the woeful excuse of saving my own hide. I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet, willing Bella to speak. I had only heard her voice for the first time moments ago, and yet I found myself missing it.

I didn't have to wait long.

"How long have you been a soldier, Edward?" Bella glanced up at me as we walked.

I reached the hand that wasn't cradling Bella's up and ruffled my hair. It was an old habit, something I used to do in lessons when I didn't know an answer, or when my father found out about some mischief Em and Jas and I had gotten into and wanted a reason not to strap me for it. I did it now to stall talk of the war, even for a second. How could something so bloody be happening in the same world as this moment?

Bella tugged on my sleeve then. "Edward? Are you alright?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss Bella," I said. "I guess I just got lost in the thought of proper conversation. Haven't had much of that outside of Em and Jas, and they don't hold a candle to the company of a lady."

I flushed as I looked back at her. In truth it was her company that vexed me the most. My mother used to say I could talk the cotton right off the plant once I got started, so it was safe to say conversation wasn't my problem just then. She matched my blush with her own and looked back toward the door.

"We joined up near on two years ago," I said. "Walked a lot of miles in those years, and seen a lot of places."

"And slept in a lot of strangers' hay lofts?"

Her question surprised me as we reached the threshold to the house and I jerked my head down to look at her. At that very same moment my toe caught the frame of the door and I stumbled forward into the house. Bella stifled a giggle as she caught my arm and I righted myself. My blush from a moment ago had turned to a flaming fire in my cheeks. Here I was with a pretty girl, and I could neither walk nor talk to save my own soul.

Bella's eyes were alight with laughter again, but she smoothed my coat and put her hand back in the crook of my elbow.

"I am sorry, Edward. I like to poke a little fun every now and again. I haven't done much of that in a while."

Her eyes turned sad and cloudy again, and her gaze shifted wistfully into the house, though I doubted that whatever she was looking for was in there. She blinked a few times and shook her head, then looked back up at me, a ghost of her smile returning to her face.

"We were most pleased to host you in the barn and for breakfast as well. It won't be much, but like as not you've not seen much in the way of a kitchen in some time."

Indeed I hadn't, and just as she spoke, the smell of fresh cornbread and coffee (real coffee!) wafted into my nostrils.

We walked toward the back of the house and into the kitchen. Jasper was seated in a small wooden chair at the table across from strange little Alice. Even stranger, she had her hand to his face and he held her fingers in his own. From the looks of it, he'd been crying. Jasper always was a cryer. Mama said it was part of his sensitive nature, the same thing that made it so easy for him to sense emotions and feelings in others. Em and I had teased him mercilessly about it as lads, but we'd all shed our share of tears since we joined up, and the teasing wasn't fun anymore.

Alice jerked upright when we walked into the room, but Jasper held tight to her hand, moving it from his cheek down to the table where he laced his fingers through hers between their plates. He glanced up at me with a look that challenged me to question him, so I looked at Alice and said, "It sure does smell mighty good in here, Miss Alice."

She smiled up at me, a genuine smile that lit her face and erased any trace of the tears she'd been shedding only moments before. But it was Jasper that spoke. "Just Alice, Top. Seems these ladies have had enough of formality." He smiled back at Alice then, and I could just see her squeeze his fingers with hers.

Bella had released my arm and was making her way towards a steaming kettle. She stopped as Jasper addressed me and looked back with an eyebrow quirked.

"If you don't mind my asking, Edward," her lips curved up a bit as my name crossed her lips. "Why on earth do they call you Top? Or Cop? Or whichever it was I heard?"

I sighed as I told Alice and Bella about Emmett's childhood nickname and how it'd been shortened as we grew older. They both giggled a bit as they gazed over my eyes to my hairline, and I mussed my hair again self-consciously.

"Fussing with that mess won't make it any less red or any less wild," the third woman we'd met in the yard strode into the kitchen from somewhere else in the house. She still wore a man's shirt and breeches, but she'd tidied up a bit after her ride.

She stuck her hand towards me, palm open to shake my hand. I hesitated only a second before clasping her right hand in mine. She had a firm grip and an even firmer gaze as she said, "I'm Rosalie. Rose, if you'd rather. I'm this one's sister," she glanced at Alice, still seated at the table. "Sure is a pleasure to meet you boys after that fine concert you gave us last night."

"The pleasure's all mine, ma'am. Er, Rose," I stammered as her eyes narrowed with the "ma'am."

These girls were strange. No formality at all, and no chaperones to speak of. The folks back in Providence Forge would like to have been scandalized at their behavior. Although deep down I thought Mama would probably like them all very much. Mama always was a bit progressive.

She turned to Jasper then, and he stood and bowed - bowed! – formally to Rosalie. "Name's Jasper, Rose. It's an honor."

Rosalie looked at Jasper, eyes and face full of confusion. She turned to Alice, probably looking for an explanation, but Alice's big dark eyes were shining as she gazed up at Jasper.

"So you told him, did you Alice?" Rose shook her head and chuckled. I looked from Jasper to Alice with as much confusion as Rose had shown a moment before, then turned to look to Bella for some clue about what I'd missed. She was busying herself with what looked like molasses and she never looked up.

"Well Jasper, now you know why we didn't toss you boys out of the barn last night just because you're wearing gray. We don't have much use for that nonsense anymore."

Jasper took Rosalie's outstretched hand in his own and clutched it for a moment longer than propriety would have allowed under normal circumstances, but it seemed safe to say there wasn't much normal about these circumstances, so I shrugged.

"I do believe I know what you mean," Jasper said cryptically, and looked back at Alice, still holding onto Rose's hand. "And I believe I owe you a debt that I may never be able to repay for what you did." When he looked back at Rosalie, a look passed between them that I didn't rightly understand, but Jasper could always say more with a look than most could with a hundred words. Rosalie's eyes softened and I saw her squeeze Jasper's hand before he released hers and sat back down. He put his hand back across the table and looked back to Alice. She reached her small hand out to meet his and once again wove her small fingers through his and smiled.

"So, Edward," Rose said as she snatched up a plate and took a seat next to Alice, paying no never mind to Alice and Jasper's entwined hands. "Where you boys been before you came here? Seen a lot of action, have you?"

I sighed again, then nodded my thanks to Bella as she handed me a plate and gestured me towards a little chair near Jasper. I sat down heavily and bit into what turned out to be the most wonderful cornbread I thought I'd tasted in years. I was stalling to be sure, but grub like this couldn't go uncomplimented.

"I declare, Mi…Alice," I stammered again, struggling to address a lady without a title. I was rewarded for my efforts with a grin from Alice and a snort from Rose. Bella, who had taken up a seat beside me, placed a soft hand on my arm and smiled. As if this morning couldn't get any more peculiar. "This is a mighty fine meal. I'm afraid I ain't got words for just how good it is, seeing as how I've been eating Jasper's cooking for the last two years. Or Em's."

I cracked a grin as Jasper glared up at me, but he wiped it away quickly, saying, "That's only on account of your own cooking being darn near inedible, Top. You can eat ours or go hungry. Even the carrion following the company won't likely touch your cooking." Jasper smirked.

Our hostesses began to laugh at our exchange, and the three of them sounded like a concerto from my beloved piano. Jasper and I stared in wonder at each other as they filled the air with the sound of chimes and bells, with melody and harmony. It'd been so long since we'd heard or seen anything that wasn't ugly, and here we sat, in the midst of this simple yet beautiful moment; as I locked eyes with Jasper, I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was: this was almost too good to be true.

I was startled from my reverie a moment later, once the laughter died down, when Rosalie turned back to me and repeated her question. Secretly I'd hoped she'd let it go after my attempt at a change of topic.

"Well, let's see." I looked at Jasper with pleading eyes, hoping he'd take up for me when I inevitably faltered. "We joined up right after the war started, so we been about everywhere in the Eastern Theater so far. Started in…" I looked at Jasper again, this time with a furrowed brow as I tried to remember where this mess had started for us. It seemed terrible to think of, but truth be told, one bloody field looked the same as another after a while.

"We saw heavy action at Manassas both times," I breathed out as I ticked off at least the bigger engagements we'd been in. After all, why would these girls know about all the skirmishes we'd seen along the way? None of them wore black, so they couldn't have been widows and there wasn't a picture of a soldier to be found anywhere in the main part of the house that I'd seen…was there? 'Sides, a married woman would likely have acted different than these three. Course there was no telling, nothing these ladies had done so far went along with anything I'd been taught.

"We were at Antietam too, and Fredericksburg last Christmas," I said. "We're with General Lee's Corps, see, so we've seen a lot of action." I was stalling now, so I took another bite of my breakfast. Rose was still looking at me intently. Alice and Jasper hadn't moved, except that Jasper kept glancing in my direction. Checking on me, probably, knowing that I didn't want to say much else. Suddenly, and very quietly, Bella spoke up at my side.

"Were…," she paused and cleared her throat. Her voice was small and it wavered as she spoke again. "Were you at Chancellorsville as well?"

She dropped her hand from my arm as she asked, and I instantly missed its warmth.

My resolve failed then, and I looked miserably at Jasper, who nodded almost imperceptibly at me. I sighed in relief as I understood his meaning; he would take over from here and spare me the pain he knew this part of our story would bring me.

"Yes ma'am. Bella," Jasper shook his head as he corrected himself. This was going to take some getting used to. "We saw heavy fighting at Chancellorsville too."

Before Jasper could even finish his sentence, Bella flew up from her seat, knocking over the little stool she'd been sitting on and running from the room. Alice and Rose looked at each other, and Alice made to rise, but Rose shook her head.

"Stay here with our guests, my darling," she said to Alice, and kissed the top of her sister's head as she rose from the table and moved to follow Bella. "I'll go to her."

I looked at Jasper again. He looked part confused and part horrified. Clearly his answer had upset her. At that moment it occurred to me that perhaps Bella's father or brother was at Chancellorsville. How many thousands of fathers and brothers had we seen along the way? How many dozens had our bullets found? I felt a pit in my stomach and shared a miserable sigh with Jasper as we looked to Alice, hoping for an explanation. Little did I know that the pit I felt then would deepen to a gaping hole when she finally spoke.

"The last word Bella had of her husband, Jacob, was just before Chancellorsville," she said. "His company was on Marye's Heights. He's not been on any of the lists, but we've not heard a word from him since then."

As I looked at Jasper, I felt hot tears welling up in my own eyes. Bella had a husband. And he'd been at that godforsaken place too. It was more than I could bear, but I needed to hear the rest of the story. And to tell mine. So I drug my dirty sleeve across my cheeks to try to stop the tears that poured from my eyes and leaned towards Alice, silently begging her to go on.

She sighed and shifted in her seat, still holding Jasper's hand, and she began to tell us the story of Bella's Jacob, and with every word, my heart broke just a little more.

**A/N: **First, my humblest thanks to the incomparable averysubtlegift for her beta skills, her encouragement, and her Twitter-pimping of this story. Without her encouragement, I may have thrown in the towel, and without her Twitter-pimping, many of you wouldn't be here.

Second, if you're looking for something else to read, I'm betaing for InstantKarmaGirl. Go check out her stuff!

Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I thank each of you for reading and reviewing. True to my word, I did in fact do a happy dance everytime I got a review or add in my e-mail box. And I was at the airport and on a plane when most of them came in, so you can only imagine what kind of looks that got! I'll reply to everything you throw at me, so go ahead. Push the little green button. You know you want to...


	6. Chapter 6

**All things Twilight to S. Meyer. All things Civil War to…well…history. A few things involving mashing the two together…mine.**

**Bella**

He had been there. The beautiful, kind, clumsy man at my table who made me laugh for the first time in months. The one that had my heart tripping over itself every time he looked at me, had stood on the same hill as Jacob on the same day. Maybe Jacob's last day.

I took a steadying breath and looked around myself. In my haste to flee from the kitchen and the reality of the life I'd escaped for a few brief moments when Edward stumbled into it, I hadn't paid much attention to where I stopped running. I was back outside, leaning against the back of the house, gasping for breath as though I wasn't surrounded by all the fresh air a summer morning in the Pennsylvania countryside had to offer.

Before I could think anymore about what I'd just heard, Rosalie strode out the door and turned to me, leaning against the door frame.

"You like him a little, don't you, sweet?" Rose had always been blunt, ever since we were children.

I looked at her, pain in my eyes betraying the answer I didn't want to give.

How dare I answer? How could I even be thinking of what she was asking? My own husband had only been dead a few short months; I hadn't even properly buried him! And this stranger, an enemy no less, suddenly winnows his way into my barn, my kitchen, and somehow, unexpectedly, my heart.

The sob that racked my body as I sunk to the earth and ducked my head to my knees, tears spilling one over another down my cheeks and onto my dress, was all the answer Rose needed. She slid down the wall next to me and pulled me close, stroking my hair as I sobbed into her shirt. The realization that it was really Jacob's shirt made me cry harder, but Rose held fast.

"Bella, sweet, you can't deny your heart. You have to listen to what it's telling you, even if it seems impossible." Rosalie tipped my chin up so she was looking down into my eyes with her bright blue ones. "I know what you're thinking, I do. You're a new widow and there's propriety. There's tradition." Rose rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Sweet, this war has turned everything we thought we knew about how our lives should be inside out. Before all this started, would you ever have thought my mama would have agreed to this living arrangement? Or your pa?" I smiled a little through my tears, trying to imagine Papa spluttering about three young women living alone in his house before the war.

"Nothing will ever be the same after this Bella, mark my words. No matter who wins. The men went off to die, but we're fighting just as hard for our own lives. We can't all be widows at 20, my girl, and accept that we've seen and lost our one chance at happiness. And we can't go back to letting a man tell us how to live, just because he's come back from battle after being gone four years." Rose's eyes had gone from soft to steel as she spoke.

I knew her words were meant not just to comfort me, but to comfort herself as well. Rose had become accustomed to our life here. The idea of going back to town to find a suitable husband and become a proper lady didn't suit her at all. We were kindred in a way, Rose and I. This war changed everything for both of us, and we had no idea what its end would bring.

"I don't know which of those two made you cry, Bella," Emmett's big voice boomed from above as his feet came into my view on the ground. I smirked a bit through my tears as I realized that in his surprise to find me crying, the sergeant was the one that had thrown manners to the wind. "But you just tell me. I'll crack his skull." He continued muttering under his breath, and I caught something about "fools can't behave long enough for a meal," and "split his lip when I find out."

I hastily dabbed at my eyes with my apron and squeezed Rose's arm as I stood. Drawing myself up to my full height I didn't even reach the big man's shoulder, but his gaze was so kind I was instantly at ease. His brow was still furrowed in displeasure at whichever of his comrades had purportedly been the cause of my tears.

"Rest easy, soldier," Rosalie said, rising with me. She stood only a hand shorter than the handsome sergeant, something he clearly wasn't accustomed to in a lady, by his surprised look when she stood. "Bella's had a bit of a rough spell these last months. Her late husband was in the thick of it at Chancellorsville with you gentlemen."

Emmett's face hardened momentarily, and it seemed as though, in that moment, he was in another place, perhaps remembering something he'd seen on those heights so near to where Jacob had been.

"I've not heard from him since," my voice was stronger now, and I willed it not to crack and betray the emotions still welling inside me. "It's only the shock of meeting someone that was…" I trailed off as Emmett reached out for my hand and took it between his two large ones.

"So nearby," he finished quietly. I nodded. "I'm…" He paused and closed his eyes for a moment, looking very near to tears himself.

It occurred to me then that these men had seen all the horrors I could only imagine. They'd been in the middle of all the blood and fear and death that we had so far only read or heard about.

Emmett opened his eyes again and stared down at me, eyes ablaze with pain and sadness. He stooped down to me just a little, and, squeezing my hand once more, he murmured simply, "I'm so sorry Bella. So very, very sorry."

I drew another measured breath as he released my hand. "I thank you Emmett. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. It was neither your fault he was on those heights nor that you fought there that day. It is the way of this war it seems," it was my turn to reach out to him, and I placed my hand at his elbow in reassurance, "to put us all in places we never planned."

I glanced at Rosalie then, to show her I'd heard her words from before, and that I'd taken them to heart. She gave me a small smile before turning back to Emmett.

"So, Sergeant, would you care to join us for breakfast?" Rose looked expectantly at the uniformed man, eyebrows lifted.

"Y-y-yes ma'am." Emmett stuttered when he looked back to Rosalie and began twisting his hat in his hands.

I was puzzled for a moment, but suddenly recognized the same look in Emmett's eyes that I'd seen in Jacob's when we were just old enough to begin to understand that what we felt for each other was more than just childhood friendship. I lifted my hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle.

It wasn't that I couldn't understand; I could. Rosalie is beautiful. She is what I always imagine the Greeks meant when they described their goddesses. She's the prettiest girl in three counties, and all the boys have always loved her. The only problem was, she never loved any of them back. Rose looked at the boys in town as nuisances, with their gentlemanly attempts at courtship and flattery. Until she moved out to the farm with me, she'd always had big ideas about heading out west, to where, she said, all the real men had gone.

But as I stood here watching Rose eyeing Emmett up and down while the big soldier shifted his feet in nervousness but still looked right back in her eyes, I wasn't so sure that there weren't a few of her so-called real men left in the east.

"Just Rosalie, soldier." Rose said. "And you must be Emmett, since I've met the other two."

He nodded at her and seemed to regain himself a bit. "How do you do, Rosalie?" He said. "I'd be most pleased to join you ladies for breakfast, just so long as my cousins are behaving themselves in there. It's been a good while since we've had any proper company, and I fear sometimes they forget how to act."

Emmett put on a winning smile then, and Rose nodded at him and turned on her heel for the door. He looked down at me where I still stood within an arm's length and put out his elbow just as Edward had. "May I escort you in, Bella?" He asked with every bit as much courtesy as a stranger requesting a dance, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed his formality.

"Why I'd be honored, Sergeant," I grinned back at him and placed my hand in the crook of his big arm.

"Tell me, Bella," Emmett said slowly as we walked and his grin faded away. "How do you know your husband was up on the Heights at Chancellorsville if you've not heard from him since the battle?"

I sighed as I looked up at him. "Most of the boys in town were in the same regiment as Jacob, and most of them ended up on the lists after the battle." Emmett cast his eyes downward as I spoke, taking long, steadying breaths. "A couple made it through, and they've sent letters home from the hospital. None of them have mentioned Jacob though. We've asked every time we go back to town to check the lists. It's almost as though he vanished."

Emmett stopped walking for a moment, and so of course I stopped with him, my hand still resting on his arm.

"We've seen some terrible things, Bella. I won't lie and say we haven't. All three of us have seen and heard and done things we'd sooner forget. This war, it…" He trailed off for a moment and looked out beyond the yard to the rolling hills to the east where, if Rose had it right, another battle was brewing right now, right here near our own home.

"It tries to steal your soul, Bella. And sometimes, you want to let it. Hell, most times you want to let it." He was looking at me as though he could see to my soul. "You get up every day and you march off to another field full of blue coats and you have to put your heart away. You have to forget your own family and your friends and the people you love. Because if you don't, you start to remember that those boys across the field have folks like that too."

He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair.

"I never thought I'd be good at soldiering," he was pleading with me a little now. "I'm a blacksmith, Bella. That's all I am. I thought, since armies have wagons and horses and mules, they'd need a blacksmith. Not much in the way of work back home once the war started, so I set off to be a smith for the army, and the boys came with me. But I'll be damned if we didn't get there and find out they didn't need smiths near so bad as they needed soldiers." Emmett stopped again, gathering himself. It was a measure of his pain, I thought, that he hadn't apologized for swearing, given the level of propriety I'd quickly come to expect from our guests.

As he paused, understanding dawned in my mind. This was Emmett's confession. He'd been there the day Jacob was lost to me, leading men to fight against my husband, against the boys I'd grown up with in town. And it tore at him that now, here he was, about to come into my home. I inhaled, preparing to speak, but he held up his big hand.

"Please, Bella. Let me finish." The wild anguish in his eyes tugged at my heart and I nodded, willing him to go on even as I wished he would stop.

"We joined up and went off to battle after battle. I've killed men, Bella. I've shot them and watched them die because of me." I cringed and felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. "I've ordered men to kill others, some no older than boys. I've watched my own family," he looked towards the house and I knew he meant Jasper and Edward, "go to pieces after a battle, or even during one. I've seen them turn into animals on the field, clawing to preserve their own lives, killing to keep from being killed."

I turned to Emmett, tears running fresh down my cheeks. He looked wild and beaten, anguished and enraged all at once. I wasn't sure if he remembered I was even there until he placed his free hand down on top of mine, resting on his arm.

"What I'm trying to tell you, Bella, is that I wish it was all different. If I'd known two years ago what I know today, I never would have left home, and if they'd called me a coward, I wouldn't have fought back."

This was more than Emmett's confession. It was his apology, his condolence, his plea for absolution all rolled together. I understood that telling him it wasn't his fault that he'd been there that day wasn't enough. He was looking for forgiveness, and the way he saw it, that was something I might have to give

"I forgive you, Emmett," I said, and his eyes snapped up to meet mine.

"Bella, I…"

I interrupted him. "Emmett. I said it before. This war has changed everything we thought we knew. When it's over, we'll go back to being brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, parents and children. Even friends." I looked at him pointedly at that last. "We can't hold onto the things we did when we were duty-bound. So I forgive you."

The next thing I knew, Emmett crushed me to his chest in an embrace that, under most circumstances, would have had me screaming for Rose and her pistol. But I knew, even as I struggled to breathe, that this was more thanks than Emmett could ever say out loud. I wrapped my own arms around his back and smiled a little into the wool of his coat as my feet dangled off the ground.

When he finally released me and set me down, he looked almost like a different man, as though, with just a few words, I'd erased the anguish that had been weighing him down. We shared a look then, saying so much more than words ever could. We'd reached an understanding, this blacksmith-turned-soldier and I, and I felt a little peace as we exchanged smiles.

"Come along then, Sergeant," I said, matching his formality from a moment ago and returning my arm to his elbow. "Your men might eat your breakfast if we don't get inside."

Emmett chuckled, a warm, rich, comforting sound like wood crackling in a merry winter fire, and we walked back inside.

The scene in the kitchen was just as serious as the moment Emmett and I had shared in the yard, and I remembered why I'd bolted from the room in the first place.

"…been going into town every week to check the lists," Alice was saying as we entered the kitchen. "But…nothing."

Alice was speaking primarily to Jasper, who was still across from her and holding her hand. Edward had both elbows on the table, his face in his hands. I was momentarily distracted as I stared at his perfect, slender fingers in his hair and I blushed as I realized I wished they were my hands. I'd never had such impure thoughts in all my life as the ones this man elicited from me, and that they should come at a time like this was even more shocking. But Rose was right; I couldn't deny my own heart.

With a renewed sense of resolve, I released Emmett's arm, and with a pointed look at Rose, who was standing behind Alice as she finished my story, I crossed the short distance to stand at Edward's side.

Neither of the two soldiers at the table had noticed our entrance, drawn in as they were to Alice's story. When Jasper saw me, he clambered to rise, Edward mirroring him when Jasper's sudden movement caused his own head to jerk up.

"Please, both of you, sit." I said, smiling. I placed a hand on Edward's shoulder then, feeling a spark shoot into my hand as soon as it touched his body. "I'm so sorry for running out like that. It seems Alice has told you about Jacob." Edward stiffened as I said his name.

Jasper, who hadn't yet reached back for Alice's hand, turned to me.

"Bella, please, we…"

"Jasper, it's alright," I assured him. He nodded. It seemed words weren't necessary to Jasper either.

I looked down at Edward, my hand still on his shoulder. He stubbornly refused to meet my gaze, staring instead at a knot in the wood on the table.

"Edward," I said, and then looked around at the other two men. "I know it's painful for you, for all of you. But please. If you can, any of you. Could you tell me about it? I…" I trailed off for a moment, digging deep into my soul for strength. I stared at my hand on Edward's shoulder and squeezed just a little. Enough to increase the pressure of my touch, but not enough for anyone but him to notice.

He finally looked up at me then, twisted anguish in his eyes like fog winding through the trees.

"I need to know what it's like. What it was like for Jacob. Please. Not just about…that day," I implored, shifting my gaze from Edward and around to face first Emmett, then Jasper. "Just, please. Tell me something."

The three men exchanged looks then, looks that spoke volumes more than they would ever share with us. When Jasper broke the silence, he spoke gently to Edward in a voice that conveyed all the love and calm of a mother with a newborn baby. The whole room seemed to relax just a little when he spoke.

"Tell her about Christmas, Top. She'd want to hear that." He looked around, taking us all in. "You'll all want to hear it."

Emmett nodded as Edward looked to him. It was clear in that moment just how much these three relied on one another. There was calm and strength and beauty and a fierce loyalty that must have been their salvation these two years. My heart swelled as I realized they were a family just as Rose, Alice and I were. They weren't so different from us, these grey-clad soldiers, and in that moment I was grateful that they'd stumbled into our lives.

Edward looked back down at the table for a moment and sighed, his shoulder sinking a bit under my touch. He looked up at Rose, then at me.

"You might want to sit, Rosalie, Bella."

I glanced around me for a moment. My chair was still tipped on end across the table next to Alice. Emmett caught my eye and went to pick it up. He righted it, looked appraisingly at my hand on Edward's shoulder, and brought the chair around the table.

"He may need you, Bella. This won't be easy for him," Emmett whispered in my ear as he slid the chair behind me. I nodded almost imperceptibly and sat, taking my hand from Edward's body but sliding the chair right up next to him. I was close enough to feel heat radiating from him.

Rose handed Emmett a plate of food and they both sat on little stools we'd brought in from the sewing corner in the front room, Emmett eating from his lap, not noticing Rose's eyes on him all the while. I smiled a little again, knowing my suspicions from before were being confirmed before my very eyes.

Finally, Edward looked up from the table and sighed. I heard Emmett's words again in my head and I reached out and took his hand.

"Please Edward. For me?" I asked quietly, squeezing his fingers.

He nodded then with a bit more resolve, took a drink from his coffee cup, and began.

A/N: I know, I know…you thought it'd be Edward's story. *Ducks from thrown items.* I really wanted to get to Emmett a bit and tell you where Bella went when she ran out. I hope you enjoyed it! Edward's story is already in the works…I'll send teasers for the next chapter with review replies.

As always, my thanks to my lovely beta, averysubtlegift, without whom I can assure you this chapter would not be here, nor, possibly, would this story. If you're not reading The Price of Balance, I implore you to do so, it's amazing.

Thanks also to averysubtlegift and MeiSun for the Twitter-pimping! You guys rock my socks. I'm bsmog on Twitter too if you'd like to follow.

Thank you all for reading! Your adds and reviews bring me more joy than you can imagine! Now go on, click the green button…you know you want to…


	7. Chapter 7

**Stephenie Meyer owns it all. She just lets the gang come travel through time with me every now and again. **

**

* * *

**

Edward

I didn't want to tell her.

Hell, I didn't want to tell anyone. But Jasper looked at me with those understanding eyes and said to tell her about Christmas. And then Emmett nodded. Traitors, the both of 'em. How was I supposed to get through this?

Bella had a husband. That news nearly broke me to begin with. Alice's story tore my heart out of my chest. Bella's husband had been there. He'd been there with us. With me.

And now she wanted me to tell her about it. About that day, about the war, about what it was like to be a soldier, and my cousin and the man I called my brother thought I should.

I sat there with my eyes fixed on the knot of wood in Bella's table. She had taken my hand, and her touch felt like I'd reached into a fire and grabbed onto the kindling.

I looked up into her big brown eyes and sighed.

"We were at Fredericksburg before Christmas," I began. "It was…well. I'm sure you know. The battle ended on December 15th, but we didn't really move immediately after the fighting was over."

I didn't know just how far to take the battle talk. We'd won and stopped the Union's assault on Richmond, or at least held it off for a little while. But it was December. It was cold and we were tired and Christmas was on the horizon. Many of the regiments on both sides didn't really move after the battle ended. Perhaps I'd just start there…

"When the battle ended," I looked up at Emmett and he nodded. I'd made the right decision not to talk about what had happened before it was over. "Some of us stayed at camp for a couple of weeks. We had a lot of wounded and so did the Yanks…your side, I guess," I looked up at Rosalie and she gave me a small, encouraging smile. Something about her made this a little easier. It seemed as though perhaps she understood more about battles and war and fighting for our lives than most people we met.

_We were tired and sore, and we were camped down near the Rappahannock River. We'd won the battle, or so they'd told us, but to look at each of us, man for man, we didn't feel like we'd won anything._

"_Might as well try to clean some of this blood off while we've got a day or two," Emmett was walking towards the icy waters stripped to his small clothes, uniform in hand. I sighed and followed his lead, stripping my trousers and coat and shivering against the December air. _

_We made our way down to the water with Jas in tow. The current was strong, but not frightening, and we could likely use the strength of the water's flow to help draw the blood and soot and gun powder from our clothes. We crouched at the river's edge and scrubbed the cloth against rocks to remove the stains of battle._

_Hearing chatter from a ways down river, I turned my head. Another group of men huddled farther down the river bank, similarly clad in small clothes. One of them, a dark-haired man near to my age, looked up and caught my eyes. At the same moment, I looked down at the garments the group was submerging. _

_Blue._

_I sighed and nudged Emmett, jerking my chin towards the larger group down the way. We'd often seen groups of Yankees nearby before or after battles. Sometimes they ignored us. Other times, they tried to provoke us into a fight. Weapons were never drawn, but fist fights often broke out in the tension before a battle or the emotion that followed one._

_Emmett looked down towards the men, catching the eye of the same man that had seen me. He would look relaxed from afar, but Jasper and I could see the cords of muscle tense in his neck, and he moved to rest a hand on his sidearm even as he looked to the man downstream._

_Much to our surprise, the man smiled and raised an arm in greeting._

_I looked at Emmett, mystified. This was new. We'd never had an exchange quite like this one before. But while Em and I tried to puzzle out what these Yanks could possibly want, Jasper, rising unnoticed from the water's edge, raised a hand in return and shouted to the men downriver. _

"_A good morning to you, Billy," he hollered. Billy was the name we used for all Yankee soldiers. Billy Yank, we called them._

"_And to you, Johnny," the man shouted back. Emmett's head had snapped up at Jasper when he yelled, but as soon as the other man responded in an equally friendly tone, he relaxed just a little and nodded to Jas, granting him permission to continue the exchange. _

_Johnny was the Yanks' name for us. Billy Yank for any Union man and Johnny Reb for any one of us. It was a mask, really. Hide behind names and jokes so you didn't have to face the fact that you were talking to a man that, outside this blasted war, might have been your friend. _

"_Water's mighty cold, isn't it?" Jasper hollered back, moving a couple of steps downriver towards our new acquaintances._

"_Mighty cold," the Yank said, mimicking Jasper's movements. His fellow soldiers followed suit, and I looked up to Em. _

_He shrugged. "Might as well, Cop," Emmett said. "They haven't shot us yet. Likely they won't now."_

_We took a few steps downriver after Jasper._

_A few more polite questions about the water temperature and the weather, and a few steps from each side to accompany each response, and we were face to face with the Yankees. The man that had waved at us held out a hand to Jasper. _

"_Johnny," he nodded at Jas. _

"_Billy," Jasper nodded back, taking the man's hand. _

_We didn't exchange names, even face-to-face. The closer you got, the more human it made you. Knowing a man's name would make it harder to kill him in the next battle._

_We all nodded to each other and shook hands warily. Em and a bigger man behind the waving Yank sized up each group._

_There were four of them, all about an age with us. Beyond those similarities, they were as different as we three. The man that had flagged us down was a bit shorter than I, but broader in the shoulders. He was dark in hair and eyes, but had the same sun-browned skin of a soldier that we all shared. Years on the march had turned each of us the color of the dirt we could never wash from our skins._

_We continued to be wary as we greeted each other and exchanged more pleasantries._

"_Shame we're spending Christmas here, wouldn't you agree, Johnny?" The man that had waved at us was seated on a rock near the one I'd chosen to sit on when we'd all settled in a bit._

_I smiled at the man. He seemed genuinely kind. "Indeed, my friend. But I haven't really felt much like celebrating Christmas for a while now." He nodded soberly, indicating he understood my sentiment. I looked down at the river's edge for a moment and picked up a small, smooth stone. I tossed it up in my hand a time or two and then skipped it across the turbulent water. It was a measure of my frustration that I could skip a stone through the wild waves on the river._

_I was already tired of fighting. I was tired of blood and death and fear and killing. _

"_Hey Reb," the man said. "What would you say to sharing a meal? Maybe a cup of coffee?" _

_I chuckled. "Listen, Billy," I said. "I sure appreciate your invitation. But we ain't seen real coffee since we left home. And our rations ain't even enough for us, much less to share."_

_I expected the man to rise and leave, but instead he smiled. _

"_What about tobacco, Reb, you got any of that?" He asked me. _

_I looked at him in amazement. Tobacco? That was one thing we in the South never ran short on. _

"_Tobacco? That's all you want?" I asked him, shocked._

_He laughed outright then. "Reb, think for a minute about our side. Where would we grow good tobacco?"_

_I thought about it for a moment. The largest tobacco plantations in the country _were_ in Virginia and North Carolina. The man had a point, but tobacco was one thing I never worried about running short on, and neither did the Army. _

_I nodded at the man. "Alright Billy, tobacco it is. I'll run back to camp for our rations and be back right quick. Reckon this is the closest thing we'll get to a Christmas celebration, eh?"_

_He nodded, a sad look coming over his eyes for a moment before he smirked back at me. _

_Minutes later I came back from our camp. The regiment was in varying states of relaxation and mock-celebration. Entering and leaving the camp unnoticed wasn't a struggle. I had stopped at our tents for a change of trousers; it seemed somehow wrong to celebrate Christmas in our drawers. I didn't have gifts for our new friends or for Em or Jas, but I did have my music. I picked my fiddle up from under my bed roll as I left the tent, smiling to myself on the way._

_The Yanks also had found pieces of clothing to cover their small clothes while their uniforms dried. The biggest of the men had lit a fire and was tending it as it heated. A spit had been erected over the top of the flames, and a couple of rabbits already turned on it. Where had they found rabbits?_

_The smell of cooking meat erased any questions floating through my mind except one: How long had it been since I had anything other than bacon and corn cakes or hard tack?_

_Emmett and Jasper were engaged in animated conversation with the Yanks as I approached. Jasper smiled as I walked up to the fire._

"_Put these on, you heathens." I threw their trousers at them. "We can't have Christmas in our drawers."_

_Emmett, Jas, and the Yanks all laughed at me as they dressed. We feasted that night on cornbread, or the closest thing we could come to it with what we had, bacon, roasted rabbit, coffee (a gift from our Yankee friends), a bit of whiskey, and, of course, full pipes at the end of the we all lolled around the fire after we'd eaten to near bursting, pipes lit, the conversations turned nostalgic._

"_I'm married, Johnny," the man that had waved us down blew a smoke ring as he spoke. "We all are." He gestured to his compatriots in various states of relaxation around the fire, talking quietly amongst themselves and with Em and Jasper. _"_Hell. I don't even know who she's with for Christmas. I just know it ain't me, and that don't seem right."_

_He sighed as he took another deep pull from his pipe._

"_Never got married myself, Billy," I said._

"_Got a sweetheart at home?" He asked me slyly._

"_Wish I did," I said wistfully. "Truth is, I ain't met the right girl."_

"_Those southern girls, they probably ain't what you're looking for," he grinned at me. "Northern girls are different, Johnny," he said. "Just wait 'til we whip you, then you can head on up north and find one for yourself."_

_We shared a hearty laugh over that. I'd been telling the truth when I said I'd never met the right girl back home. It wasn't as though I hadn't tried, nor that the girls in town hadn't. In fact, the ladies in town had made no lack of effort at matching me with different girls; granddaughters, nieces, daughters, sisters. I'd politely had tea with them all. But nothing further had developed, and I'd resisted courtship with all of them in some fashion. I was grateful that Mother and Father hadn't ever insisted on my getting married, or I'd have ended up in what seemed to be a traditional loveless Southern marriage._

"_I envy you," I said seriously. "Finding a girl to settle down with. Maybe have a family." I was wistful at that last. I wanted little more than the joy that would accompany celebrating new life in the world instead of all this death. _

_At that moment, Em shouted over to me. "Hey, Top! Play for us!" I raised an eyebrow at his insistence. "Aw, c'mon Top, it's Christmas. Play a tune or two on that thing. Why else'd you bring it down here anyway?"_

_I laughed then. Sometimes Em could be so boisterous. But it was Jaspers' eager nod that sealed it. I drew my fiddle from its case and seated myself comfortably on the rock I'd inhabited when the evening began._

_I played a few festive tunes: _The Holly and the Ivy_ and _God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen_, before settling into a few quieter songs. I played a relatively new and haunting holiday song called _Silent Night_, and then a few of the more popular tunes for the day. I closed, as I always did, with_ Home Sweet Home. _Part of me felt badly; I didn't want to make our company glum on their holiday. But it was Christmas and here we were, trapped in this awful place away from our loved ones, and all we really wanted was to be at home after all. _

_When we finally parted for the night, it was with a feeling of camaraderie, friendship even._

"_Merry Christmas, Yank," I said to the Yank who'd flagged us down._

"_Merry Christmas, Reb," he said, sticking out his hand to shake mine. We shook warmly and I clapped him on the shoulder._

_When we'd all said our goodbyes, Em, Jas, and I walked back to camp in comfortable silence. We didn't need to speak about the evening. The feeling of peace, so often lacking in these times, spread amongst the three of us. We only whispered a quiet "Merry Christmas" to one another before going to sleep. It was, without a doubt, the first night I remembered since before the war began that we all seemed…content._

I paused from my tale, looking around the table. Bella, Alice, and even Rosalie were smiling a little at me. Em and Jas had the same looks of contentment on their faces that they'd had when we celebrated Christmas with our Yankee friends. I couldn't help but smile. It had been a wonderful evening.

"I don't understand, Edward." Alice finally spoke up, her voice peeling through the silence like the high keys on my piano. "I thought this was a sad story? That sounds like a nicer Christmas than we even had!"

The other ladies nodded their agreement. Emmett chuckled, but his laugh held no joy. He knew the ending of this story, the reason that I couldn't bear to tell it. And even more importantly, the reason I could hardly bear to be a soldier anymore.

As was often the case, Jasper spoke to fill the void I wasn't ready to fill yet. "It was a wonderful Christmas," he said. "Better than what we thought we could ever have expected, considering the circumstances."

"But you must understand, Alice," Emmett took up the banner then, giving me a few more minutes to compose myself. "Every time we have a moment of normal with the Yanks, it makes the battles harder to fight."

"We're killers, Bella." I cut through Jasper and Emmett's voices with a hard tone. "It doesn't matter how we seem. You're looking at the faces of killers." I looked at each of them in turn, trying to impress upon them how dire the situation really was. How none of this felt real anymore, and how I expected to wake up any moment in my tent, the sound of sentry fire popping in the distance.

"We aren't afraid, Edward," Bella said calmly. "It's war-time, we understand that. But you won't hurt us."

She was still holding my hand, but I pulled away from her grasp. This part of the story was the hardest for me to tell, but I considered it my burden to bear alone. I closed my eyes for a moment, steeling myself for what was to come, then sighed.

"We were up on the Heights on that second day. Our company was pretty broke up; it's hard to keep order in all that hell," I shook my head and looked around again. "You'll pardon my language, ladies, but hell it was." Jasper nodded solemnly. Emmett was staring fixedly at his feet now. He'd watched a lot of our men die that day, and it weighed heavily on him, I knew.

"Em, Jasper, and I were a bit downhill from some of the heaviest fighting, pinned behind a boulder in a small copse of trees. We were holding our ground, but not by much, and certainly not gaining any."

_Bullets whizzed by our heads from all directions. We'd learned months ago that if you don't keep your head down in a fight, you may find yourself without it. And it might not be the other side what takes it off._

_The thing about battle is, you're so damned afraid, it's hard to keep your wits about you. It's many a man who's pulled a trigger and ended up hitting one of his own in the fray._

I stopped for a moment to look around at my audience again. This wasn't fit conversation to have with a lady, that was certain. But they'd asked, and I'd begun it now. Rose was watching me intently, just as though I was telling her about the crops we grew in Virginia, or how Mama prepared cornbread. Alice and Jasper were gazing at each other again across the table, although when I stopped speaking, Jas turned to me for a moment, his eyes conveying concern and encouragement all at once. Alice looked at Bella, drawing my eyes in her direction as well. She looked pale, and the luster was gone from her rich dark eyes. Anxiety was etched in her features and her breath was labored, as though she was struggling to keep it even. I wondered if she was alright, if she'd be able to continue when my story was so obviously bringing her pain.

I waited for her to look up at me and nod at my unasked question before I continued.

_The gunfire increased around us, signaling the arrival of more men, but from our vantage point, we couldn't tell whose men they were._

"_Keep your damn head down, Top!" Emmett shouted over the din. "Hair like yours may as well be a target for the enemy, and you've done lost your hat again."_

_I put my hand up sheepishly to try to smooth my unruly hair, but snatched it back down again when I felt a ball whiz past my fingers before burying itself in the body of an unluckier man somewhere behind me. The sound was unmistakable, like dropping a melon onto a hard surface. A dull, muted thunk, followed almost immediately by a man's cry._

_There was no cry this time though, and I knew even as I turned that I shouldn't. Not ten spans to my rear, a man with a gaping hole where the right side of his throat used to be flailed and groped at his wound even as he fell. He gurgled, eyes wide and bulging, but when his body crumpled to the ground, they'd already begun to glaze over, the cloudy look of death upon his features. The end had been quick; he was a lucky one._

"_Damn," Jasper half-whispered, half-yelled over the din. "That was Newton. Poor bastard." He shook his head, and I turned again, back to the crumpled body behind me. _

_It was Michael Newton. He'd been in our company, a young, twitchy fellow that scared easy. He was a crack shot though, grew up hunting squirrels, he said, and "man's a lot bigger than a squirrel," he'd say. "Damn sight slower, too."_

"_Guess you were slower'n a squirrel too, Newton," I whispered wistfully as I looked at him. I mouthed a silent prayer for my fallen comrade, then turned my attention back in the direction the shot had come from. _

_Damn. There was blue everywhere. I looked to Emmett and Jasper, their faces both registering the same resigned detachment as I knew mine was showing. It was as though we switched off our souls, became less than human. It was the only way to survive, and yet, every time I went into battle, I was afraid that when it was over, I wouldn't be able to find my soul again._

"_Watch our flank, Edward," Emmett said calmly, fixing his rifle to his shoulder and taking aim at the oncoming Yankees._

_**POP**_

_A smallish, older looking man in a private's coat too small for him fell in front of Emmett. Probably took that coat off some other poor bastard that met the same fate. _

_**POP**_

_Jasper's shot was a bit more erratic, but no less effective at stopping its target. A fat man with sergeant's stripes went down screaming and clutching at a bloody mess where his knee used to be. Likely that leg would have to come off. I wondered if he'd die from the infection; wounds killed as many men after the fight as they did during, maybe more. _

"_Our flank, Edward, dammit," Emmett shook his head as he finished reloading his rifle and dispassionately put the rifle to his shoulder again, and again his aim was true. His reproach shook me from my almost-clinical observation of his and Jasper's systematic routine. Load. Aim. Fire. Repeat._

_I glanced around, back to the boulder now. The copse of trees behind us wasn't terribly thick, but there were places a man could hide without much difficulty. I squinted, looking for any sign of movement, of blue wool moving through the shade. For a bit, there was nothing. I listened to Jasper and Em, taking a grunt to mean a shot had found its intended target, a hastily muttered curse to mean it hadn't. Their movements out of the corner of my eye were almost methodical. _

_Load. Aim. Fire. Repeat. Load. Aim. Fire. Repeat._

_Suddenly a crash from the woods to my left drew my eye and I lifted my rifle. I'd done this before, so many times that I didn't really think about what I was doing. If the man that followed that sound came out in blue, I'd shoot him. If he wore grey, I wouldn't. Simple as that. Weren't as though the man in blue had done anything to me personal, it was just the way of it._

_I tensed automatically, anticipating the recoil of my rifle as I waited to find my mark. I didn't have to wait long. Out of the trees barreled four men in blue, weapons drawn._

"_Em! Four on your rear!" I shouted, even as I pulled the trigger and the man in front went down like a sack of meal. _

_Emmett and Jasper wheeled as one and fired as the other three took aim as well. I felt a sting in my left shoulder ,like a bite, and glanced down long enough to see blood blossoming from my arm. I cried out, more in surprise than anything._

"_Top? You hit?" Jasper asked anxiously, pulling the trigger at the same time. Another of the Yankees went down, clutching at his own shoulder and howling. Jasper's shot had hit deeper than the Yank's._

"_Just a graze, Jas, I'm fair." I set about reloading my own rifle as fast as I could. Emmett had fired his own gun, missing the third man who'd dropped to the ground prone when the shooting started. A wise move on the defense, but now he had to get up, and that put him at a disadvantage. Emmett didn't bother to reload his rifle. He carried a sidearm and had since we left home. He pulled it from his belt, trained it on the man on the ground and fired. I watched the tension leave the man's body and I could only assume Em had done him a favor, killing him quickly._

_The final man had his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Jasper screamed and dropped to the earth to my left. _

"_Emmett! See to him!" I yelled, and trained my barrel on the fourth man. I exhaled and pulled the trigger, knowing even before the bullet left the chamber that I'd hit my mark. His eyes opened wide in surprise, followed immediately by terror. I'd struck him in the gut, and I cursed myself even as I watched him fall. Gutshot's no way for a man to die. It's slow and painful and terrible. I've heard tell of men that survived them, but we were up on a hill, far too high and too far away for any proper medic to reach him._

_The man fell to his knees, clutching his stomach with both hands, probably hoping to hold his innards in. He stared down at the blood flowing between his fingers, then looked up at me. Right into my eyes. It was my turn then to register shock._

_I turned my head and retched. Bile churned in my stomach and my throat as I heaved up my breakfast. I could feel tears in my eyes, and not just from sicking up._

"_What the hell, Top?" Jasper said weakly from next to me, reminding me for a moment that he'd been hit as well. "Ain't as though you never shot a man. And he'd like have shot you if you hadn't hit him first. Bastard got me right good."_

_He held a hand over his ribs on his right side, staunching his own flow of blood._

"'_S alright, Top," he smiled. "Didn't go through. Think I got a busted rib, but otherwise I just gotta stop this bleeding."_

_Emmett shoved a kerchief at him, which Jasper took and pressed gingerly against his side._

_I was still speechless, even as I registered gratitude that my friend, my brother would live to fight another day. The fighting around us had lessened a bit, moved a ways over the hill. I crawled toward the Yankee who was still clutching his guts, laid over on his side. _

"_Hell, Johnny," he said. "Wouldn't have thought it'd be your gun I'd die on the other side of. Seems a damn shame now I didn't take more of your tobacco when I had the chance."_

_The man smiled weakly, even through his pain. It was him. I'd shot the man I'd shared Christmas dinner with. The man I'd laughed with and joked with and who I'd envied for his happy life away from the war._

_He lay before me now, ashen and drenched in sweat. He clenched his teeth against the pain, but they chattered even in the heat of the day._

_I looked around then at the rest of the carnage Emmett, Jasper and I had caused. I recognized the men we'd hit as the same ones we'd shared a fire with not a few months gone. _

"_Jesus Billy," I said, my voice shaking, betraying what I had hoped was a strong façade. "What'd you have to go and jump in front of my gun for, anyway?" I tried to be as light as he had, but even to my own ears, it was hollow and sad._

_I felt my eyes prick with tears then as I watched the man I'd called friend squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, trying to gather the strength to speak again._

"_I'm so sorry, Billy." I said then, quietly. "I'm so goddamned sorry." I put a hand on his shoulder then, hoping that my gesture would be interpreted as a kindness. I wanted him to know that he wasn't alone in this moment, that I'd stay with him 'til the very end if he wished it._

"_Ain't your fault, Johnny," he gasped. "Just doin' your duty, same as me. I'd have done the same. Hell," he tried to smile, but the best he could manage was a ghastly grimace. "I did." He jerked his chin toward Jasper who was watching our exchange, solemn recognition in his eyes. He nodded to the Yankee and touched a hand to his chest, signaling greeting and absolution, all in a gesture._

_The Yank closed his eyes again and drew a measured, ragged breath._

"_You remember what I said, Johnny, 'bout my wife?"_

_I nodded, remembering how broke up he'd been about her being alone for Christmas, about how much he'd loved her. He reached a clutched fist into his breast pocked, allowing another gush of blood to run through the fingers of the hand still held to his midsection. He fished around for a moment, then, finding what he was looking for, he thrust his fist out to me. I held out my palm in confusion, and felt a small, smooth metal object being dropped into it._

_One look and I knew what it was before he spoke, but speak he did._

"_You ever get up North and you see that girl, you tell her I loved her. You tell her I died brave. You tell her I died with her name on my lips and her face in my heart." His voice was fierce now, ragged through the pain, but firm in its command. _

_Tears fell freely down my cheeks. _

"_You don't tell her it's you that pulled the trigger neither, Johnny. You didn't kill me any more'n I killed myself when I joined up. We're all just dead men marching; some of us get dead quicker'n others."_

_I choked back a sob in amazement. I'd fired the shot that would take his life, that was causing him more agony than any of us had ever known, and he was granting me absolution._

"_You'll do that for me if you ever see her, won't you Johnny?" _

_I nodded furiously at the dying man before me. Unable to speak, I reached up and smoothed his hair, wiping the sweat from his face that threatened to drip into his eyes. _

"_My thanks, Reb. I'll be at peace knowing you'll find her if you can. I'd have been mighty proud to call you friend, Johnny, mighty proud. You tell her…" He babbled off a few more words, perhaps his beloved's name, perhaps just nonsense. _

_Then he went slack, breathing out one final, labored breath. I sat there then, with the shell of my enemy, and I cried. I lay my head on his limp shoulder and cried 'til I had no tears left. _

_Finally I felt a hand on my shoulder. _

"_Edward, we have to move. We can't stay here, and Jasper needs a medic." Emmett gently reached down to pull me up. I let him support me as I stood, turning back for one more glance at the dead man in the blue coat. _

_I looked down at the locket he'd handed me then, slick with his blood and still wet. It shone golden in the sunlight, glinting in my palm. I considered it a moment through watery eyes, then closed my fist around it and thrust it in my own pocket. I knew then I'd never have the courage to open it, to face the woman whose love I'd destroyed._

* * *

A/N: So there you have it. Poor boys, they've kind of been through the ringer already...

New readers, reviewers, and adds - greetings to all of you and my thanks. And for those of you that have been reading this with me for a while, big thanks and hugs to all of you too! You guys humble me.

A million thanks to my beta, averysubtlegift. She pulls me back from the case of jitters I get with every new chapter and keeps me going with her amazing edits and encouragement. C, there aren't words…thank you!

Thanks to all of you for sticking with me. I'd love to know what you're thinking right about now...Chapter 8 teasers will accompany review replies!


	8. Chapter 8

**Twilight and all characters referred to herein belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just put 'em in a time machine and send 'em all back to Jasper's time. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Rosalie**

_Well if that just doesn't beat all_, I thought to myself as the comely young corporal that had captured our Bella's eye stopped speaking and dropped his head into his hands.

I snuck a glance at Emmett, the handsome sergeant seated to my right. His head was bowed, and he looked smaller somehow, like a hollowed-out version of the big, boisterous man I'd met in the yard when I came in with Victoria.

In truth, I'd been taken with him from the moment I saw him standing there. Boys had always liked me, but that's just what they'd been. Boys. This sergeant though, he had the carriage of a man that had seen a bit of the world and knew his place in it. I found myself unnerved in his presence in a way I'd never experienced before. I'd thrown him the horse's reins in an effort to collect myself before I had to find the words to speak to him properly, and had only regained my composure by practically running into the house afterward to hide on the back stairs until I could be sure the flush was gone from my cheeks.

The natural way in which these gentlemen had fallen into our habits in just a few short hours was unnerving as well. I looked around me, and even in this moment of supreme sadness and heartache, their presence in the kitchen was neither intrusive nor unnatural in any way. It was as though they'd always been there, or that they should have been.

It was, I believed, a measure of Bella's interest in the corporal that she was still sitting beside him. She was pale, and her eyes were large and unblinking. She was staring at a spot above the wall above Edward's head, squinting against what I was certain were unshed tears.

Edward's story made it all so real, so visceral, so tangible. Jacob was gone, yes, or so we thought, and the likelihood of his death increased with each passing day. But Edward and Jasper and Emmett were there, in that same spot on the same day, arms raised against men just like Jacob.

Maybe against Jacob himself.

It was that thought that chilled me to the bone. What if…? But it was a big war, and even a big field of battle. How could it possibly…? I was interrupted from my speculation by my dear sister, who always had the courage to say what no one else dared.

"You gave Jacob a locket with the daguerreotype you had made when we went to Washington to visit your papa, didn't you?" Alice spoke softly, almost reverently. She still clasped hands across the table with Jasper, and I had a feeling that he, for one, was in our lives to stay. When Alice settled on a thing, there was no changing her path.

At Alice's words, Emmett's face shifted from sadness to horror; Jasper's into a mask of tortured sympathy, eyes turned to Edward. I looked to Bella, already knowing the answer to Alice's question. The tears fell unbidden now, and she jerked her chin up and down in an attempt to nod.

She dragged her eyes down toward the top of Edward's bowed head. I thought for a moment she would reach out to him again, but she folded her fingers in her lap and nodded at me almost imperceptibly, then dropped her eyes to her hands, waiting.

Alice was always brave enough to ask a question, but my beautiful little sister was still a bit fragile from our unwelcome visit with those dirty Yankees not a fortnight gone. I sensed she'd found some peace in the unkempt, fair-haired, serious young man seated across from her, and I would not rob her of that tranquility.

The silence in the little kitchen was louder than any sound I'd ever heard. I took a measured breath, then spoke. "Do you still have it, Edward?"

He looked up at me, his face a mask of agony and terror and defeat. For a moment, I thought he didn't know what I meant, but I held out my hand and he dropped his head again. Eyes closed, almost clenched as if to hide himself like a little child, he fumbled in the breast pocket of his ragged coat. His fingers clenched around the object in his hand, knuckles white with the effort.

I put out my hand.

After a moment he opened his eyes, and without ever meeting my gaze, he thrust out his fist and dropped a small, cool object into my palm. He looked around the room with one last tortured glance as he rose from his chair, and walked out of the kitchen.

I stood still a moment, not daring to breathe. I could feel the little pendant warming in my palm as I clutched it in my fist. I dropped into the chair Edward vacated only a moment before, suddenly feeling the weight of the object I held as though it was the sadness and uncertainty of every girl who sent her love off with a kiss and a locket, never to see him alive again.

Bella hadn't moved, and her apron was spotted with the tears falling freely down her cheeks. If I'd thought she was pale before, I was sadly mistaken. Her face was ashen and she trembled. She'd fixed her eyes on my hand now, moving them only slightly up from her own lap, and still refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

My fingers twitched around the locket. I tried to unclench them, I truly did. My fear warred with my determination, and I sat there for what seemed like hours begging my fingers to open while at the same time closing them tighter and tighter against the locket.

My concentration was so great that I didn't see Emmett rise from his stool and move across the kitchen. In fact I didn't notice him until he knelt before me, his eyes seeking mine.

"With all due respect, Rosalie," he said stoically, taking the fist I was clenching between his hands. "This burden ain't yours to bear alone. Edward pulled the trigger that killed that soldier, that's true enough." He flicked his eyes to Bella for a brief second, then back up to me. "But we were all three up there, and we all fired on those men."

Even in my moment of fear at what I might find when I opened the bauble I held, I flushed a bit at his touch. His hands were large and rough, but they were steady, and his grip was unwaveringly strong.

He cast his own eyes down to his hands holding mine and gathered a deep breath.

"Please," he implored. "Please let me. I have to do this, for him. For her."

He glanced back to Bella again, and to my great surprise, she had looked up at Emmett and was nodding. They shared something in that glance that was greater than anything I could understand, but it was Bella's acquiescence to his request that made me relax my grip on the locket.

I felt his fingers grasp for the tips of my own wrapped around the little golden object, and even as he pulled them away, I tensed in fear of what he would find when he opened it.

Emmett was looking back at me now from his kneeling position at my feet. Any other time, under any other circumstances, this would have been a moment pulled from a dream. A witty, brave, handsome soldier kneeling before me and clasping my hand? I would never have believed it; and yet when it happened, it was like something out of a beautiful, terrible nightmare.

No one moved as Emmett fumbled with the clasp on the locket; in fact, I would have been surprised if anyone even breathed. For what seemed like hours, we stared at the big sergeant on the floor, watching for any physical sign from him that might tell us anything of the identity of the woman in Edward's locket. A breath, a look, a smile, anything to say that no, it wasn't Jacob's body Edward cradled on that hill. That it wasn't our friends, our own townsfolk these men had shared Christmas with, and then traded deadly gunfire with not four months later.

Emmett gazed down at the picture in the locket for a long moment, his thickset fingers obscuring its contents from everyone in the room.

Then, he sagged and I gasped as his shoulders slumped. I heard an equally sharp intake of breath from Alice and I knew without looking up that she would be darting around the table to Bella.

"Miss Bella," Emmett emphasized the formality now, his voice raw with pain, "I'm…" His voice broke. "My God, I'm so sorry."

He looked up; his eyes flashed wildly about the room that had a moment ago seemed so comfortable and now seemed to be crashing down around us all.

I put out a shaking hand, reaching for his arm, his shoulder, anything I could find to give him a moment of peace before the storm took us all.

"Sergeant," I said, voice quaking to match the tremors in my hand. He focused on me, eyes full of pain, fingers still clutching Bella's locket. "Emmett," it felt wrong to use his rank now, as though I placed some amount of blame on him for his role as a soldier. I held out my hand and he placed the open locket in my palm.

I saw Bella's face looking up at me from inside the little pendant, eyes full of love for the husband who'd carried it to his death.

I closed my own eyes, resigning myself to the reality of what I was looking at. Jacob was gone.

No, not gone. Dead.

And the man who killed him had sat in the same chair I now occupied not five minutes gone.

_Bella. My poor, poor Bella._

I turned to her then. To my friend, my young, beautiful friend who was as much a sister to me as Alice, and who was now a widow, just as so many women our age were because of this wretched war.

Alice was kneeling at Bella's feet in an almost laughable mirror of Emmett's posture at mine. She peered up at Bella from the ground, whispering too softly for me to make out her words through tears of her own.

Bella surprised me by cutting through Alice's ministrations, lifting her face to look at Emmett. Even on his knees, the sergeant was almost at the same eye level as Bella.

"Please, Emmett," she said with astonishing steadiness. "I beg you not to apologize. It's as we said, you were doing your duty. Just as…" She broke off for a moment, closing her eyes and drawing a slow, shaky breath. "Just as my Jacob was. I blame no one for his decision to go to war, nor for yours."

Emmett and Jasper stared at each other in shock. I can't say I wasn't more than a little surprised myself at her absolution. But then, she spoke true. It was true that Jacob's death was still simply one soldier dying at the hand of another. That was the reality of war; soldiers and civilians alike faced that reality every day now.

Bella looked around slowly. "Where is Edward?"

Emmett looked at Jasper again, then back to Bella. His face was solemn, and he had returned to the strong sergeant that caught my eye in the yard.

"I don't believe he could stand to see what was in there," he gestured to the locket in my hand. "Truth be told, Bella, I think in his heart he feared it would be you. But even if it wasn't your picture, it still was _you_ in that locket. Do you understand?"

Bella sighed. "You mean to say that whoever was in that locket, she was someone's Bella. And the dead soldier on the hill, he would have been someone's Jacob." Emmett nodded at her as she scrubbed a hand across her forehead. "Someone should go find him," she said.

Alice looked up at Bella from the spot she still held on the floor. For the second time, she spoke the words no one else had the courage to say.

"Bella, perhaps you should go," she spoke softly. "He still doesn't know, sweet. If any of us goes out there to tell him, he'll only be wondering how you've taken it."

Bella seemed to consider this for a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was determined.

"No Alice. Someone should go to him, it's certain," she said solemnly. "He should know it was me in that locket. He should know it was my husband he shared Christmas with. He should know it was my Jacob," she paused again at his name, letting out a little sob as she finally began to crack under the realization of all that she'd just taken in. She took another deep breath and continued. "That it was my Jacob who stared down the barrel of his rifle, and whose body he cried over on that hill."

Her tone was rising, fear and sadness and what sounded like anger mounting in her voice. The rest of us were transfixed as she spoke.

"But no, Alice. I won't tell him. I won't go find him. I don't want to see him or speak to him. I don't want to stand near him or touch him or hear his voice." Her hysteria was mounting, and she sobbed openly as she finished. "One of you go to him. Tell him I understand. Tell him I forgive him for doing his duty."

She looked at Emmett, then Jasper, and back to Emmett again.

"Then pack your things and get back to your company. You've a battle to get to." Her face and body crumpled, and just before she fell weeping into Alice's arms, she spoke one last time. "You all be careful, I couldn't bear it if you died. But should you survive, please tell Edward one more thing. Tell him I never want to see him again."

* * *

**A/N: **First, to all the new readers, welcome! I hope you're enjoying the gang's journey so far, and thanks for reading and reviewing. Your adds and reviews still make me skip and jump up and down, even in my cubicle at work. True story!

Thanks as always to my beta averysubtlegift. C...there are still no words! 3

I've written a one-shot entry for the Love of Jasper contest. Check it out if you like; it's completely different from The Long Walk Home, but I had a lot of fun writing it!

Finally, Chapter 9 is already in the works, so once again, teasers will accompany review replies. There's also a bonus teaser in The Fictionators' Teaser Monday edition today. And again, thank you all...you humble me, really!


	9. Chapter 9

**As always, all things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer. The Civil War belongs to the ages. I'm just bending them to fit together a little bit.**

**

* * *

**

Jasper

"Tell him I never want to see him again."

Bella fell into Alice's arms sobbing, but her words hung in the small room like the haze that covers a battlefield after the fighting's done.

Emmett looked at me and gestured toward the door. Always a gentleman at heart, he wanted to honor Bella's request that we go. I could see the pain in his eyes. I could see his fear; he would take it upon himself to tell Edward that the dead Yankee at Chancellorsville was Bella's husband. I feared that the news that Edward had widowed this girl would be his undoing, and I knew Emmett shared that fear.

I nodded at him and rose from my chair. I put my hands on the table and considered for a moment before I turned to follow Emmett out the door. My heart was broken for Bella, she was another in a long line of wives that were widowed too soon. It mattered not at all which side of the war a girl's love fought on; a dead man on the field of battle left a young woman alone, maybe forever. Maybe with children to care for, or a farm she couldn't manage. Every soldier was someone's father or brother or son. Someone's Jacob.

My heart was broken for Edward, my friend, my brother. He was so fragile already. Spending Christmas with those Yankees had changed him. He said after that he could never look across a battlefield at a blue-coated man and not see our friends' faces across the fire on Christmas night. Edward was always sentimental, even as a youth; and it wasn't a trait he could leave behind when we left to fight. When that Yank fell in front of Edward's bullet, he was inconsolable. I felt his devastation and pain almost as keenly as I felt the pain of my own wound.

And my heartbreak didn't end there. I ached for Emmett, for his responsibility, for his willingness to take the world onto his broad shoulders and carry us through day after terrible, bloody day. I ached for Rosalie, this beautiful, strong woman whose strength carried these girls through their trials. She was their Emmett, that was plain, but the lives the war had handed to these girls were more than anyone should have had to bear.

And Alice. Lovely, eccentric, clairvoyant Alice, whose peculiarities seemed so akin to my own. The tale she told me before the others came into the kitchen tore at my soul. Her gratitude for our company, for the protection we had unwittingly offered cut at my heart. What kind of man was I that I could walk out on these women? How could I leave them alone to hope that those Yanks or someone just like them didn't come seek them out again?

I walked toward the door, but stopped in front of Alice, who was still holding a weeping Bella on the floor. I looked for a moment at Rosalie, still sitting in the chair Edward had been sitting in a few moments before. The fair-haired beauty was staring at the locket in her outstretched palm, her expression stunned.

"Bella," my voice came out only slightly above a whisper. She raised her head, her tear-streaked face twisted in agony. "I'm sorrier than you can imagine for the loss you've suffered. I understand your wish to see us gone. I've only two things I must say before I go with Emmett to speak with Edward." She nodded slightly. Alice twisted a bit on the floor to meet my eyes.

"The first is to beg you to reconsider your request to see Edward gone for good. I understand very well that you're hurt and angry, but please, I implore you to hear your own words. He was doing his duty and nothing more, and beyond that, he fired that shot to save my life. I've the scars to prove that." I gestured to my ribs.

Bella's eyes hardened for a moment, but softened again when I brought up my own wound.

"I know you might not be able to look him in the face today, Bella, and I understand that. But please, don't shut the door on him for good. He mightn't survive another blow like that." I licked my lips before going on, knowing that my next words might tip the balance in Edward's favor, or they might wound her further, maybe even beyond repair. "Alice told us about your Jacob. She told us how terrible you felt when he left, how you begged him not to go. She told us about the guilt you carry in your heart for punishing him for leaving by not saying goodbye." Every eye in the room widened with my words. I knew I was treading on dangerous ground, but I pressed on. "I'm here to tell you, Bella, that man I met - he bore no grudge toward his wife. He bore no anger toward you for the day he left. There was nothing but love in his heart and pride on his tongue for you and for the life you two shared."

I waited a moment, pausing to measure the effects of my words. Bella stared back at me, her face a mix of anger and sadness. I'd overstepped propriety talking about her husband, but it had to be said. I took her silence as permission to continue.

"But Edward, he ain't Jacob, Bella. He's not had the love of a beautiful woman to sustain him through battle after battle. Truth be told, it's likely instinct and little else that keeps him from stepping in front of a bullet instead of trying to avoid them." Her face registered horror at the notion, but I'd gone too far to stop now. "He's broken, Bella. He has been since Christmas, maybe even before. He wasn't made for the life of a soldier. Meeting you," I looked around the room at Rosalie and Alice. "Meeting all of you, really, has brought him to life, at least for a day." Emmett grunted his agreement from the doorway to the kitchen. His agreement gave me the courage to finish my course.

"You gave him a little bit to live for, Bella. Even just for one day, there was life in his eyes again, the likes of which I haven't seen since the first time he fired a shot that took a man's life. If you send him away now believing that you hate him, it's like to kill him, just as if he did step in front of a bullet." I looked up at Em again, who nodded. We had a good idea of how Edward's mind worked, but he'd become increasingly distant since Chancellorsville, and Em and I had secretly discussed our fears about what he might do the next time we faced the Yanks.

"Please, Bella. Look at Edward as your chance to say goodbye before he goes off to fight. You needn't forgive him, or fill his head with foolish notions. Just don't send him away believing you hate him if you don't." I finished with a sigh and ducked my head. I wasn't usually one for long speeches; in fact that was likely the most I'd said at one time in months. But I could see in Bella's eyes, even through her tears and her pain that she was sending Edward away out of fear, and that despite her anger, she didn't hate him. The guilt she still carried for sending her husband away without a farewell weighed heavily, I knew, and I hoped she could see her way clear to realize she didn't want to feel the same guilt again when Edward left.

She closed her eyes, seeming to consider my words for a moment, which was more than I'd dared hope for.

"I'll consider your request, Jasper, but that's all I can do," her voice came out in shaky bursts, and I could see she was trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears. "For now though, I don't know if I can see him before you go. I do hope you can understand that."

Her eyes bore into mine and I nodded. It wouldn't be fitting for me to ask her not to mourn her dead husband, especially since the wound was fresh again now that she knew he was gone. I inhaled deeply and went on.

"But secondly," I looked at Rosalie then too, before setting my eyes on Alice. "I'll speak to Edward, I will. I'll not leave that to Em, even though it's plain he sees it as his duty to tell Edward what's happened. But I'll not honor your other request, Bella, no matter what you decide about Edward." She looked at me quizzically, but I ignored the question in her eyes to answer the one I saw in Alice's.

"I'm not leaving."

Emmett, who had been slowly making his way out the door, all the while pausing every few steps to look back at Rosalie still sitting in Edward's chair staring at Bella's locket, stopped short and spun on his heel.

"Beg your pardon, Corporal?" His eyes flashed, and I knew both by the look on his face and his use of my rank that he understood right away what I meant, even as confusion took root on the faces of the ladies in the kitchen. And maybe more importantly, I knew he was angry. He had a right to be, as my commanding officer; but as my friend, no, as the man I called brother, I needed him to understand.

I jerked my chin toward the door and hoped my eyes conveyed the words I couldn't say here just yet. I owed these girls an explanation, that I knew, but I owed it to Emmett to have this conversation in private.

He glared at me, then turned and stalked out the door. I looked down at Alice, whose face still registered confusion, but there was a tenderness in it as well. I thought perhaps she was beginning to understand what I meant. I smiled gently at her, reaching my hand a little toward her in a gesture of…what? Solidarity? Understanding? Sympathy? Love? I didn't know how to classify all the emotions I felt when I looked into that beautiful face. All I knew was that my heart belonged here with her now, and I knew it as sure as I knew my own name, even if I hadn't found the words to tell her yet. As I said, I owed that explanation to Emmett first. I sighed resignedly and started out the door after him.

When I stepped out of the house, Emmett was pacing furiously in front of the threshold. I looked around the yard, squinting into the sun that had climbed in the sky while the course of my life was changed forever a few yards away in the kitchen.

"What the devil do you mean, you're not leaving?" Emmett spat as he whirled to face me. "You damned sure are leaving, Corporal! There's a battle brewing not 25 miles from here. Our company's on its way there, and you will be too!"

As soon as he stopped speaking, he began pacing again. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he'd walk a hole clear through the earth. But of course I did know better. If there's one thing I know, it's walking. And men can't ever walk clear through, not matter how it might seem they might.

"No, Emmett," I said, much calmer than I felt on the inside. Truth was, Emmett frightened me a good bit. He was a gentle soul, and I loved him like a brother. And he me for that matter. But he was a sight stronger than I, and I feared his temper. But this was important, so I pressed on. "I won't be there. I'm not going back. This is my place now." I looked back at the house.

"_This_ is your _place_ now?" Emmett was spluttering now. "Damnit, Jasper. You've been here a few hours and suddenly this is your _place?_ Your place is with us, Jasper. With Edward and me." His eyes saddened for a moment as he spoke, then hardened again as he drew himself up straight, adopting the stance of an officer at parade. "And with your company. This is treason, soldier, plain and simple."

He drew a sharp breath, and the pain returned to his eyes as he stared down at me. I swallowed hard in spite of my determination to keep my head. I didn't expect Emmett to understand, at least not completely, but he was right. What I was aiming to do _was_ treason, and he outranked me. Just knowing my plans implicated him as well, and if he didn't report me when he returned to duty, he'd be guilty of aiding my desertion. It tore me in two knowing the position I was putting him in, both as my friend and as my sergeant, but my path was set as sure as if I'd been set on it the day I was born.

"I'm sorry Emmett," I said quietly. He glared and clenched his fists at his sides. I didn't know if he would hit me, but it stood to reason that he might, and I wouldn't say as how I'd blame him if he did. He stood to lose no matter what I did.

"Hear me out," I begged him in an attempt to appeal to the man I'd grown up with, who'd been as much a cousin to me as he was to Edward, even though we shared no blood relation. "These girls, Em, they've been through a terrible time. Harder than ours maybe." He quirked an eyebrow at me. I went on to explain as quickly as I could what had happened here with the two Yankee soldiers.

By the time I finished recounting Alice's story, Emmett's fists were still clenched, and the anger in his eyes had turned to rage, but he was staring at the spot that Alice said the Yankees had stood, pawing at her and Bella until Rosalie stopped them. I shook my head in admiration again at what Rosalie had done.

It was a fact that most fighting men never actually fired a round. I'd seen many a private stand stock still in the face of the enemy just loading bullet after bullet into their guns, but never firing. Sometimes after a battle, we'd pick up arms abandoned or dropped on the field by the dead or wounded, and there would be as many as five or six rounds run down the barrel. It was as though the act of loading the weapon brought a measure of comfort, but the notion of shooting at another man was more than many could stand.

And yet Rosalie had the courage to walk far closer than a bullet's range and knock a man to the ground with just her own strength to save her sister and her friend. That was bravery of a kind not often seen on a battlefield, and I commended her silently for it before continuing.

"I can't leave them, Em," I said imploringly. "I can't walk out of here in good conscience and leave these girls here alone. _Soldiers_ did that to them, Emmett. Not just men. Soldiers, just like us. Just like that girl's dead husband." I gestured inside to where we had left Bella.

My voice had grown louder as I spoke, a reflection of the anger I felt at what had almost been done to Bella and Alice and for what Rosalie had to do to protect them. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks and I knew my fight to maintain some level of calm was lost.

"Damnit Em!" I was shouting now. "We fight and kill and bleed for men we've never met! Rich, pompous, arrogant bastards who think it's their right to own another man and send us off to die to protect that right!" Emmett stopped pacing and faced me, eyes wide. I'd never been one for fits growing up; it was a rare day that saw me lose my head, so Emmett's surprise was warranted. But I was angry. Angry at those men and this war and at Bella's husband for being the man that shot me and that Edward killed that day. All those emotions and fears and all that rage had piled up like cotton at the harvest to get to this moment.

"We've been fighting all this time, and for what? For strangers and a cause we don't really believe in?" Emmett had let his fists go slack and his shoulders slumped as I finished. "But Em, who the hell's fighting for them?" I turned to point back through the door of Bella's house and stopped short when I saw Bella, Rose, and Alice staring at me from the doorway.

As soon as I saw them, all the anger I had been feeling drained out of me. I didn't even need to ask how long they'd been standing there or how much they'd heard. Alice's eyes shone with unshed tears, but her mouth curved up in a bright smile. That smile told me everything I needed to know.

I turned back to Emmett, buoyed by Alice's smile. He sagged as his eyes met mine, resignation and sadness and anger warring in his gaze, but I knew I'd won. He would leave and I would stay, and somehow, someday, he would forgive me for it. He was my brother and my friend, and someday I would make him truly understand.

He nodded once and looked back at Bella and Alice and Rosalie. Using what looked like all the strength he had left in him, he curved his lips up in a tight, pained smile, then turned without a word and walked off to find Edward.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks as always to all of you for reading, adding, reviewing, PM'ing, tweeting, etc. I'd like to hug you all or buy you a drink or something! Instead though, I can tell you Chapter 10 is actually almost done and is in the editing stages, so an update will come very soon! **

**Also, thanks to averysubtlegift for her superbeta skills and most especially her encouragement. 3**

**I hope you enjoyed our little interlude with Rosalie and Jasper. Edward and Bella are back starting in Chapter 10...they needed to compose themselves a bit. Leave me your thoughts if you like; as usual (at least recently) reviewers will be teased!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Still Stephenie Meyer's world, I'm just playing in the time machine until a grown-up tells me to stop.**

**

* * *

**

**Edward**

If ever I'd wished for an enemy bullet to find me before in this war, to seek me out and end my misery and sadness and guilt, those wishes faded almost to nothing in the face of what I felt as I ran blindly from Bella's kitchen.

I felt certain it was her picture in that locket. But even if it wasn't, it was _someone's _picture. And that someone would never see a husband or father or brother or son again because of me. It was a reality I'd accepted long ago, but now that someone had a face. Bella was the face of every widow, of every fatherless child or childless mother this war had made. That I had made in the course of fighting it.

I retched at the thought, spilling the contents of my belly behind the barn that had offered such respite only the night before. I thought absently that it seemed such a waste to sick up the first decent meal I'd seen in months, but the pain in Bella's eyes at my story haunted me and twisted at my guts, and I heaved again. Sobs racked my body as a new wave of agony hit, and I sunk to the ground.

I could hear Jasper hollering at Emmett from the other side of the barn, but I couldn't make out his words. But when Emmett rounded the corner moments later and fixed his gaze on me, I knew without asking what the contents of that Yank's locket had revealed.

Strangely, the certainty of it calmed me, and I drug my sleeves across my cheeks to staunch my tears and waited for Emmett to speak.

"It was her, Top," he sighed, not pausing to gauge my reaction. "The Yank was Bella's lost husband. She forgives you." He rushed on when I looked up at him, a tiny spark of hope in my eyes. "She forgives you for doing your duty, Top, not for killing her husband." I dropped my head again, cradling it in my hands.

Emmett went on quickly, spilling all the words at once just as he did when we were boys and got caught in an act of mischief. He always thought it best to tell the whole story at once, hoping that if you were quick enough, our folks would miss a part or two somewhere in the rush. I knew that tone and what it meant from him. It meant he hadn't told me the worst of it, and I braced myself as he continued.

"She said it's not your fault it was you who pulled the trigger anymore'n it was his for being on that ridge. These are remarkable women, Top, to understand the duties of a solder."

"Just get on with it Em," I said hollowly, looking up at him again. He nodded and gulped, looking around for a moment, affirming my suspicion that the worst was yet to come.

"She forgives you, Edward, but she asked that we leave. She said we'd best not dally any longer, and that we had to rejoin the Army and get off to Gettysburg to fight." He took a deep breath and forced out just a few more words even faster than those that had preceded it. "And she says never to come back. She said she never wants to see you again."

At those last words, Emmett leaned against the barn wall, then slid down to the ground to sit next to me. He sighed deeply and eyed me sideways, doubtless awaiting a new wave of tears.

But none came. I felt surprisingly empty at his words, as though all emotion had been drained from me with the notion that I'd destroyed that beautiful girl's life with one bit of lead.

Just then, Jasper came around the side of the barn and took in the sight of Emmett and I crouched in the dirt. Em avoided his eyes, picking up a rock from the ground and turning it absently in his fingers.

"I'm guessing he told you, Edward." It wasn't a question. Jasper looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded dumbly.

"Did he also tell you I'm not coming back to the company with you?" My head shot up at that, and I stared at Jasper in amazed confusion.

"What the hell do you mean, you aren't coming back with us, Jasper?" I rasped. My voice was raw and gruff.

"Jasper here feels his place is with these girls," Emmett said, still not looking up from the rock in his fingers. "It seems he's lost his taste for the war."

I shook my head, trying to understand what I was hearing.

"Jasper, that's desertion, you know that! If anyone finds you, you'll be arrested. Maybe us too!" I gestured to Em. "What the devil are you thinkin'?"

Jasper sighed. "I know what'll happen if they find me, Top. I do. I'm willing to take the risk. I'm counting on you two going back and saying you woke up this morning to find me gone. That you made a sweep around camp and there wasn't hide nor hair of me. I'm expecting you to lie, Top. This is _my_ choice and no one else's, and I'll not have you taking the blame for it."

I blinked at him. The void I was feeling took over again, and I just nodded. I hadn't any more strength left in me this day.

"Take care of them, Jasper," I said, and he nodded. He smiled at me gently, thanking me wordlessly for my understanding. "Take care of _her_." I whispered that last bit and rose to my feet. Emmett followed suit.

I put out my hand and Jasper grasped it without a word. We stood there a moment, hands clasped silently, considering. The gravity of the moment settled upon each of us. We would be separated for the first time really since Jasper came into our lives so many years ago. I pulled him toward me then in an embrace. We were brothers after all, in spirit if not by blood, and I owed him a proper goodbye.

He pulled away after a moment and turned to Emmett, looking uncertainly at my cousin. Emmett stared down at him for a moment before putting out his own hand.

"_This_ is your fight now, Corporal," Emmett said formally, but his voice was thick and his eyes watery. "You fight for them." He jerked his head back in the direction of the house, then pulled Jasper into an embrace of his own.

Jasper nodded at him as he stepped back.

I still felt the void in my chest where I was certain a bundle of emotions should have been. Where was the pain at being sent away by Bella? Where was the terror I should have felt before marching off to another battle? Where was the sadness at saying goodbye to Jasper?

My confusion reigned as I walked with Em and Jasper back to the barn to fetch our things. When there was but one bedroll left in the loft, Em turned back to Jasper.

"We'll do as you said when we get back to the company," he said. "But I'll roll up the rest of your belongings and hide them somewhere near where we camped. I don't know where, so you'll have some looking to do, and you'd best give us a day to get clear before you go looking."

Jasper nodded gratefully and stopped in the barn doorway. Emmett and I kept walking. We turned back once, and Jasper raised a hand in goodbye as we strode away.

I felt his absence keenly within steps. It'd been the three of us for so long, it was as though there was a hole where he used to walk. But I still couldn't muster any proper sadness. It was more an emptiness inside, swirling around my insides where my heart should have been.

We walked silently past Bella's house. Emmett didn't even look up as we passed. My desire to look once more upon the place where Bella entered my life, if only briefly warred with the knowledge that the woman that had made me feel alive again, that had made me feel _anything_ for the first time in months never wanted to lay eyes on me again.

In the end, the need to have one last look at the place where I was saved defeated my fear, and I gazed back at the yard where Bella had been doing laundry. I played the moment I met her over and over in my mind, hearing that angelic laugh. I could feel the heat and spark on my skin where we had touched as plainly as if it had only just happened.

"_Edward!_"

I spun as I heard my name shrieked from the doorway of the house. Emmett stopped too and turned back.

I stood frozen in my tracks as I registered the sight of Bella dashing madly through the yard. She clutched her skirts in her fists as she ran across the grass. Tears streaked down her face and her hair had come loose from the net that held it. I was mesmerized for a moment by the sight of it flowing behind her as she ran, a silken river the color of roasted chestnuts shining in the sun. Her eyes were wild as she approached.

"Bella…?" I said hesitantly, not knowing what the question was, but knowing I had to ask it. She didn't want to see me anymore, Em and Jasper had just finished telling me. I hadn't dreamed it, had I?

"Oh Edward," she panted as she came to a halt in front of me. Her breathing was labored from the exertion of her run, and she put her hands out to steady herself, likely not realizing that it was me she was holding onto. She gripped the lapels of my threadbare butternut coat so hard her knuckles turned white, and she stared at her fingers twisting the dirty wool instead of up at my face. My heart raced as I waited.

After what seemed like hours, she still stood there, clutching my coat and not speaking. I swallowed my fear and reached my hands up to cover hers and bent a little to try to see in her eyes.

"Bella, what is it?" I said as gently as I could, trying not to startle her with the urgency I could feel creeping into my voice.

"Jasper said I mustn't shut you out altogether, Edward," she mumbled, almost too quietly to hear. "He said the blow might kill you. He said…" She trailed off and I did my best to dampen my impatience. Why was she out here, running after me even as I tried to follow her wish that I leave?

"I'm sorry, Bella, I don't understand. Please," I implored then, begging her to go on. "Please help me understand what you're saying."

She looked up at me through watery eyes. "You can't die, Edward. I couldn't bear it. If letting you go without a word would have killed you truly, I couldn't live with myself." She was crying again in earnest now. "I lost my husband, Edward. I lost him months ago. Maybe I lost him the day he left when I was so hateful and spiteful that I let him go off and get killed without ever telling him how I loved him." She steadied herself for a moment. "And then you came, Edward. You came into my barn last night and you calmed us with your music and your presence. And when I saw you, when we touched…" She had stopped speaking, but she stared up at me with those endlessly deep brown eyes, dark and rich as good soil. I waited, hardly daring to breathe. She had felt it too, the heat and spark that resulted from our contact. I hadn't known until just then that she felt something just as I had.

And then, almost as though the world slowed, I felt her hands clench tighter against my coat and she pulled my head down closer to hers, her eyes never leaving mine. She opened one hand just enough to grasp my fingertips on the hand that covered hers. I was vaguely aware of her tongue flicking out to lick her lips, and I felt her breath warm and sweet on my face as her face came closer and closer to mine until our lips met.

The fire I'd felt when our hands touched for the first time in the yard was a candle flame compared to the inferno that raged when our lips touched. It was as though the world came to a stop and my whole existence was wrapped in the softness of her mouth. We stood for a moment, her lips pressed against mine, and then she pulled away, only slightly, her grip still strong on my coat.

Her eyes searched mine, looking for something, maybe a response, maybe a word, maybe a nod.

Tears still flowed from her eyes.

Instead, I tightened my grip on her hands and pulled her back up toward me, kissing her again. I felt more than heard her tiny whimper as our lips touched for the second time, and the fire was ignited again. I'd been living as though dead for so long, I was overwhelmed by the life that sprang forth from the connection between our lips. I barely had time to recover from the shock of kissing Bella at all when I felt her lips part beneath mine and I was hit with another wave of surprise. Her mouth was so warm and soft, her tongue reaching out to sweep mine gently, almost questioningly. I gasped in surprise but held her to me, recovering as quickly as I could and softly exploring her mouth with my own tongue, uncertainty warring with desire as my mind whirled with the newness of the sensations coursing through my mind and body.

I'd kissed a few girls back home, but always chaste kisses that ended in the girl giggling and blushing, and me wondering just exactly what the fuss was about. But this, this kiss was something like I'd never experienced before, and if this was what the fuss was about, I heartily approved.

I could have stood there kissing Bella for the rest of my God-given life, but all too soon she pulled away. Her breathing was still heavy, her chest rose and fell rapidly, as did mine. I found myself searching her eyes now, looking for some kind of explanation about what had just happened. My heart was soaring in my chest, but cautiously.

"You have to go, Edward," she finally breathed. "You have a duty, and I'm not ready for this." She freed her hands from mine and gestured between us. "I need more time. I need to think. I need to mourn my dead husband." She sighed and I let my hands drop, unsure of how to respond.

"I had to tell you. I let Jacob go, Edward. I let him leave and go to war without saying goodbye and he died. I never got to see him again." She lifted her hand and cupped my cheek. "I never got to touch him again, or feel his touch in return. I never got that one last kiss." She pulled her hand away and unconsciously brushed her lips, perhaps thinking of the kiss we'd just shared, or maybe thinking again of her husband.

"He's gone now. You and that battle and this war took him from me." I cringed at her accusation, even though it held no malice. She was only stating a fact, and her face was soft as she continued. "I let him go without saying goodbye, and I'll have to live with that. But I couldn't do the same to you, or to myself. I know Emmett must have told you I never wanted to see you again."

I nodded and cast my eyes down.

Hearing her speak the words was all the more painful, despite the fact I'd heard them already from Em.

"I don't know if I want you to come back after the battle, Edward," Bella said slowly. I couldn't lift my eyes from my shoes. "But I know I couldn't let you go without telling you…without _showing_ you that I do care," I lifted my eyes at her mention of our kisses and she flushed. I fought a small smile that tried to play across my lips.

I knew it was a long shot, hell it was the longest shot I'd ever taken, but my fate seemed to matter somehow to this girl, despite all she'd been through. Despite the hell I'd put her through without even knowing it.

"So please, Edward," she whispered, and took my hand between hers. Even that produced the spark, though not to the degree her kisses had. "Please have a care. Please don't go looking for a bullet to step in front of. You mustn't. Please, promise me you'll be careful?"

I still didn't understand just exactly what she was saying, but in that moment I would have promised her anything. I nodded again, not trusting my voice.

She nodded back as though accepting my own nod as a promise, and squeezed my hand one last time as she rose up on her toes to kiss my cheek, leaving a scorched trail where her lips had been.

Then she turned and walked back to her house, leaving me standing alone in the grass to puzzle out the meaning behind her words and her actions, to figure out which was correct: the fluttering in my heart at her kisses and admissions of concern or the dark fear in the back of my mind that she'd just told me goodbye for the last time.

As she reached the house and stepped through the door, closing it behind her, one fact rang true through all the confusion swirling in my head.

She'd never looked back.

* * *

**A/N: **So? Hope? No hope? Throwing things at the author? *Hides*

As always, y'all, thank you so much for sticking this out with me…I appreciate every one of your reviews and alert adds. I hope you enjoyed the quick update...I seem to be getting inspired quicker these days, so hopefully it'll keep up!

More thanks than I can express to my beta, **averysubtlegift**. Most of you read _Price of Balance,_ I know, but if you don't, you really, really should. It's simply stunning. C, as always…there aren't words.

Chapter 11 teasers will accompany review replies, and I can already tell you, Bella's got a few things to say next chapter! Thank you all again for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


	11. Chapter 11

**No grownups told me to stop, so I'm still playing in the time machine. But Stephenie Meyer still signs the gang's permission slips.**

* * *

**Bella**

It took every ounce of strength I had and more to walk steadily back toward my home. If I could just keep my head facing straight ahead, keep my chin up, not look back…

I clutched my skirts with my fists so hard I could feel my fingernails digging into my palms through the coarse fabric. Tears continued to stream down my cheeks, but I hardly noticed them anymore. All I could feel, aside from the sheer force of will I was exerting not to turn back, not to run to him, not to scream to him not to go, was the lingering feeling of heat on my lips from his kiss.

Without realizing it, I released my skirt with one hand and touched my lips, half in wonder, half in shame. Part of me was scandalized; I was a widow – it was a certainty now, I had to get used to the term – and a new one at that. I'd just kissed a man I'd known for scant hours, and worse than that, the man who had only moments ago become the face of my Jacob's death. And _I _kissed _him_, not the other way 'round.

And it had been the most intense, most exciting, most feverish, most passionate kiss in my short life.

Jacob and I loved each other before we even knew what love was. We were intimate, of course, just as every husband and wife should be. It was natural and I wasn't ashamed to think of my late husband that way. I'd loved him very much, and I had loved being with him in our bed.

But when I kissed Edward, it was as though a lightning bolt shot from the sky straight into my heart and sent sparks radiating out through the rest of my body. My lips tingled and burned where they had joined with his. His taste, all coffee and molasses and sweetness, lingered on my tongue. I blushed at the thought. It had taken many a kiss with Jacob before I could kiss him open-mouthed without feeling dirty or shameful, but one kiss from Edward and I was practically behaving like a harlot!

Except it hadn't been like that at all. I hadn't meant to kiss him, not really. I only meant to tell him to be careful, that I couldn't stand it if he died. That much was true. I feared his death almost as though it was my own. In a way, if he died, it would be like my own death. I'd already lost Jacob, even before the return of Edward's locket – of _my _locket – confirmed his death at Chancellorsville. I'd felt his loss months ago, when I waited in vain for weeks for some small sign that he lived. In a way, I'd felt it when I let him leave two years ago without telling him goodbye.

I couldn't lose Edward that way too. I had to tell him that despite everything standing between us, I couldn't bear for him to die.

That was all I meant to tell him when I tore from the house across the yard to catch him as he walked away with Emmett. I thought I meant it when I told Emmett and Jasper I didn't want to see him again. But Jasper seemed to see straight into my soul. He knew that decision would haunt me should some disaster befall Edward in the battle ahead, and he had courage enough to tell me so. I'd been angry, but as much at myself for denying what I knew to be true as at him for arguing the point.

So, I went to tell him, to say goodbye properly. Yet somehow, standing there, clutching his lapels while I tried to catch my breath, I got lost in those green of his eyes. I got lost in the lilt of his voice, in the heat emanating from his body, and all the words left my when he took my hands so gently in his and spoke my name, begging me for an explanation, I did the only thing that seemed right in that moment.

It was shock enough that I kissed him, but when I pulled away, flustered and prepared to apologize for my indecency, prepared to run away, he did the last thing I expected. He'd seemed so surprised at my kiss, so reluctant. Had he not felt the blaze of heat that passed between our lips? Was I mistaken? I'd felt my cheeks color more deeply, shame rising through me as the magnitude of what I'd just done really settled in my mind, and only worsened as I thought perhaps he didn't share my feelings.

But when I stepped back and finally looked up, my God, the look in his eyes was unmistakable. And when I felt his grip strengthen around my hands on his coat, it felt as though his blood was coursing through me too, and mine through him. When he pulled me back up for a second kiss, I threw all propriety to the wind; I'd been alone and felt so lifeless for so long. For just a few moments, I allowed myself to feel again, to want again, forgetting, for just those moments, about Jacob and the war and everything else in my life.

I could have stood there in that field forever clinging to his fingertips and melding his lips with mine. The urge to beg him to stay with me was overpowering. I wanted to bury my face in his collar, to breathe him in and find solace in his arms. My heart was beating so hard I thought Rosalie and Alice and Jasper could probably hear it back at the house.

In the end, fear overpowered desire, and I pushed him away.

I still felt the thundering in my chest as I walked around the side of the house and beyond toward the barn until I reached the back side where I knew I couldn't be seen by Edward or Emmett as they left. Abandoning all outward pretense of calm, I stalked back and forth, my mind whirling in different directions each time my feet spun in the dirt.

_You're a widow. You should be in mourning._

Turn.

_That kiss was the most passion you've ever felt._

Turn.

_Your husband is dead, how can you be thinking of another man?_

Turn.

_Edward made you feel safe. How long has it been since you felt truly safe? _

Turn.

_Edward killed Jacob._

At that last, I stopped. I drew a deep breath, then another and another. My husband was dead. Edward had fired the shot that killed him. Why was I not angrier? How could I not hate him? He sat in my kitchen, in my husband's chair, and called himself a killer, and I couldn't bring myself to hate him.

I couldn't even bring myself to blame him.

I could feel anger and sadness and frustration and fear roiling in my insides like a thunderstorm on a summer day. Absently, almost as if by accident, I bent to pick up a rock from the dirt. I held it in my hand for a moment, clutching it tightly. The edges were sharp and jagged, cutting into my fingers, but I just squeezed harder, trying to focus all the feelings I had into that one little stone.

The pain got the best of me though as one corner broke through the skin on my palm and I cried out, staring down at the offending object in my hand that was mingling with the trickle of blood it had drawn with its cut. I brought the hand holding the rock behind my head and flung it across the dirt, releasing a shout of frustration as I did so. I watched it bounce harmlessly to rest in the grass, which for some reason angered me further.

I threw my head back then and screamed in earnest, trying to shove the pain and worry and agony from my heart and mind.

I had no idea how long I stood there, wailing wordlessly at the sky. Before long I fell to my knees and my screams became strangled keening as my throat turned raw and hoarse. Suddenly I felt myself being encircled in a pair of foreign arms. My heart leapt into my throat for a minute – had Edward come back? But when I looked down at the arms wrapped around me, they were bare to rolled-up shirtsleeves, not clad in butternut wool. And then I remembered that only two had gone off to fight.

"You'll scream yourself hoarse, Miss Bella," Jasper's quiet voice was only just above a whisper in my ear. "And that's fine by me if it's what you want." He loosed his arms from around my shoulders to place his hands gently on my shoulders and spun me to face him. His grey eyes radiated sadness, but also calm and serenity, and I felt some of the tension inexplicably run out of my aching muscles under his gaze. The pain was still there, and the sadness, but the rage and the terror at being alone had subsided.

Of course, Jasper would be feeling the same sadness I was, in a way. The two men he looked upon as brothers, who he'd known for most of his life, or maybe even all of it for all I knew, had just walked away from him.

Maybe forever. Maybe to die. He knew what it meant to be left behind.

"But perhaps you'd like to talk a bit, and if that's so, you might wish to save your voice a little?"

I looked at him a moment longer, then nodded.

"I think I should like that very much, Jasper," I said. "Perhaps we could walk a bit?" I really wanted to go back to the house and fetch some water first, but I wasn't ready to speak to Alice or Rosalie just yet, and I thought perhaps Jasper and I should talk alone.

Jasper didn't say anything, just put out his arm for me to take. I giggled a bit in spite of all the pain I was feeling as I placed my hand in the crook of his elbow. These boys were so formal and seemed so polished. Perhaps it was Jacob's and my history together, our time as children that had made formality seem uncomfortable, or perhaps Pennsylvania was, just as this war would indicate, truly a different place than Virginia, although that seemed unlikely, since I knew that the ladies in town would be scandalized beyond words if they knew about what my home had been host to this morning. But we'd never been much for formality, even before the strange turn of events that left me living alone in my house with my two dearest friends and not a man nor a chaperone in sight.

But here I was, strolling through my own yard on the arm of a stranger for the third time today. I giggled again, despite the twinge I felt when I thought of Edward. When I had been on his arm only a few short hours ago, he was just a beautiful, kind, clumsy boy who was coming in for breakfast. He wasn't a broken soldier or the man who shot my husband. And I wasn't a wife who didn't know what had become of her husband, nor was I a widow.

He was just Edward, and I was just Bella.

Jasper's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"They'll look out for one another," he said quietly. I looked up at him, but he kept his eyes resolutely downward. I wondered if he was reassuring me or himself. I nodded mutely, hoping he would catch the movement out of the corner of his eye. "It's what we do. It's what we've always done. We look out for one another, you understand?"

He still wouldn't look at me, and a feverish note rang through his voice. I watched him carefully as we walked, and I waited. It seemed he had something he was trying to say, and I didn't wish to be the reason he wasn't able to say it.

"Did you know I'm not related to them at all, Bella? That when I showed up alone in Providence Forge all those years ago, I'd never heard the name Masen or McCarty in my life?" He looked up at me now, and I was startled a bit by the intensity in his steely eyes. I shook my head. I hadn't known. I thought perhaps he was a cousin, or some sort of distant relation by marriage. Or perhaps a close family friend.

He sighed.

"I was born in Texas, Bella. I lived there until I was about six, I guess. My father was a rancher, and my mother was the daughter of a rancher in a nearby community. They married young and my father took over the family ranch from her folks when her daddy took ill. He died not long after that, and her mother followed soon after. I never met 'em." He spoke that last quickly, stilling the condolence that was poised on my lips.

"Anyhow, when I was six, we had a real dry summer. The grass was dry, and all I remember is big clouds of dust blowing across the plain. All summer long that damned wind blew. And it was so hot that when the storm clouds came through in the afternoons, what little rain that fell dried up almost as quick as it hit the ground. One afternoon, one of those storms blew through and some lightning ignited a bit of grass on our land. Grassfire spreads pretty quickly, Bella, and next thing anyone knew, that fire caught in the barn."

"My pa was in the barn when it caught. Mama was in the house with me. She saw the roof go up and ran out. I remember her telling me to stay put, and not to come to the barn no matter what happened." He sighed.

I noticed our steps had slowed, but he continued to walk, so I did too.

"I did as I was told and stayed put in the house. I stayed in that damned house until the sun went down, waiting for them to come back inside. But they never did." He scratched his head. "It's a mystery to me to this day how that fire took the barn and scorched the land, but it never touched the house. Eventually a neighbor came by looking for my folks to see how they could help. It probably wasn't really all that long, but I was little; a minute seemed like a lifetime when I was alone." He shrugged at me, and I nodded.

I had felt that way the first few days after I realized Jacob's letters had stopped coming, and I was an adult. Every trip to Chambersburg for the post felt like it took days; every moment I waited for Rosalie to come back from a trip to someone's house for news felt like an hour. I couldn't imagine what it must have felt like for a little boy, all alone and scared and waiting for a mother and father that would never come.

"I stayed with the neighbors for a few days, but they didn't want another child. It took a little time to arrange, but eventually it was discovered I had a distant cousin in Virginia, a spinster by the name of Maria."

"But you grew up with Edward, didn't you Jasper?" I was confused now. I felt certain that somewhere I'd gotten the idea that Jasper and Edward grew up in the same home. How could Edward not be related if Jasper grew up with his own kin?

"That I did, Bella," he smiled. "When I arrived in Providence Forge, I spent about a month living with Maria. She was a sweet old bird, but she hadn't the energy to keep up with a little boy. Not to mention she always said I wasn't quite right for a child my age. She meant well by me, and I'm grateful to her for taking me on, otherwise I never would have ended up with the Masens." He grinned at me before continuing on. His smile was catching, and I found myself smiling back despite the sad story I'd just heard.

"Edward's mother…truth be told I think of her as my own mother now too…she's a schoolteacher in Providence Forge. Both his parents are, actually. Mrs. Masen teaches the younger children." His smile grew soft and wistful. It was more than clear he had a great deal of affection for the woman who'd raised him.

"Maria enrolled me in school right when I arrived in Providence Forge. I think she hoped that being around children my own age might bring some of the child back out in me. Edward was my seatmate that first day, and we were friends from the start." Jasper chuckled, and again I found myself joining in, imagining the men I'd met today as little boys. "I spent a great deal of time at the Masens' after that. Maria took sick in the fall, and Mrs. Masen let me eat supper there, and stay there some nights if Maria was having a rough time of it.

"She was elderly, and like I said, she didn't have it in her to keep up with a young boy, so not long after that, the Masens offered to take me in. I think Maria knew that was the right place for me, and that my folks would have wanted to see me grow up with a family to call my own, so she allowed it. Looking back now, I know I'd never find the words to thank her properly for letting me go, God rest her soul. She died about three years after that, although I saw her often."

I felt my own brow furrow and the ever-present lump rise in my throat, but the beginnings of my tears at Jasper's tale were cut short when I looked up to see him smiling. Not a sad smile, a big, toothy grin that I couldn't help return with a laugh.

"You see, Bella, all the loss I've had in my life has led me to something else wonderful. Losing my parents was terrible, but it took me to Providence Forge. Losing Maria brought me to the Masens, and they're as true a family as any blood kin I could ask for. I've been lucky, you see?"

Suddenly I understood a little of what Jasper was trying to say to me, or at least I thought I did. He and I were kindred in a way, our lives marred by loss and death at every turn. He lost his parents, then the last kin he had. I lost my mother and a little brother, whose death I mourned as though I'd known him, for a bit of my father died that day as well. And then Jacob.

So much death for two people so young to have to endure.

And yet somehow, Jasper could look upon all the heartache and find…what? Hope? Peace? Contentment? I looked up again at the fair-haired man at my side. His face, darkened by the sun, showed lines around his eyes that only laughter could leave imprinted in a man so young. How could he be so accepting?

As if hearing my unasked question, Jasper spoke up again. "It's a lot to take in, Bella. If I just stand here and think of my mama and my pa, burning to death in that barn? It eats me up inside. Believe me. I wonder all the time, was he alive when she got out there? Did they find each other before the fire consumed them both? I'll never know, Bella."

"Your Jacob, he was a good man." Jasper's voice grew somber now, and softened in tone and timbre. "They were all good men, and their choice to fire on us wasn't one to be held against them, Bella." Jasper reached a hand up to touch his ribs, an indication, I thought, of where Jacob's bullet must have met his flesh. "But Bella, please understand, Edward's choice to fire back wasn't one to hold against him either."

I nodded mutely again. My head was still spinning with the effort of sorting out the knot of feelings in my head.

"It's strange," Jasper looked wistful now, and I abruptly noticed we'd circled the barn and yard completely and were almost at the back door to my house.

"After we…" he stumbled on the words. "After Christmas, Em and I noticed Edward drifting away. He wasn't really goin' anywhere, we knew that. He wouldn't just desert, hell, none of us would have. Until this morning, I guess." He smiled a little sheepishly as he realized what he'd just said.

"Anyhow, he just got farther and farther away from us. Do you know, he hadn't picked up that fiddle since Christmas? Not until last night in your barn. We thought the old Edward was gone, Bella, until last night. And then he played, and we thought maybe there was hope for him after all."

He stopped and took a deep breath, then turned to face me, peering down to meet my eyes. I blinked under the intensity of his gaze, but I didn't look away.

"He came back to life when he met you this morning, Bella. Just like that. I've no idea what you said to him in the yard when I was inside with Alice." He colored a little, which made me smile. How it must have gone against his sense of propriety to sit in my house alone with Alice. "But I told you once, and I'll tell you again. When the two of you came inside, there was something in his eyes again, Bella. Some spark of happiness or joy or light or…I don't know. _Life_. Something that had been missing since that god-awful day on that hill."

My chest constricted again at the mention of the field where Jacob died, but I kept my tears at bay. I stared up at Jasper, waiting.

"When I said they'd take care of each other, Bella, I wasn't lying. Emmett and Edward, they'll look out for one another at that battle, and one way or another, they'll survive. It's what we did. It's what they'll do now. And when they do, they'll want to come back here."

I lifted my eyebrows at him.

"Come now Bella," he laughed. "Don't tell me you didn't see Emmett making eyes at Rosalie every time she turned away!"

I giggled, surprised yet pleased that Jasper had seen it too.

"I don't know about Emmett, Jasper," I said. "But I watched Rose moon over Emmett all through breakfast. Don't tell her I said so though." I smiled softly now. "She looks out for Alice and me. I couldn't bear to upset her in earnest."

Jasper nodded, understanding my meaning. I suspected when he greeted Rosalie in the kitchen that Alice had told him about our Yankee visitors a few weeks back. I owed her more than my life, and if she wanted to make eyes at the handsome sergeant, I wouldn't begrudge her the chance. In fact I hoped for it.

"Jasper," I said quietly, and he cocked his head slightly. "Could you give me just a moment? I imagine you and Alice and Rosalie and I have a few things to talk about what with you staying and all, but I just need a moment to think first. Would that be alright?"

Jasper nodded wordlessly and turned toward the house. As he walked through the doorway, I called out, "Jasper?" He turned. "Thank you," I said.

He smiled and disappeared through the door.

My head still spun, but I noticed my fear had dwindled. I was still amazed at how much Jasper and I shared. So much pain and death.

But he'd found a way to get on with his life. To find love in new places, filling the holes left by the people that left him.

Could I do that? Could I patch up the gaping hole in my heart with something new?

I didn't know. I wasn't ready to close off the part of my life that I'd shared with Jacob, not yet.

But something Jasper said was stuck in the front of my mind.

"_When the two of you came inside, there was something in his eyes again, Bella. Some spark of happiness or joy or light or…I don't know. Life."_

I didn't know if Edward could make me whole again, if he could fix the broken pieces of my heart. But I felt it too; he brought the light back into me again as well. I felt alive for the first time in months. It had been so long since I felt that way, I'd almost forgotten how wonderful it was to feel joy and happiness. To feel content and safe, and to just _be_. It _was _wonderful, and I'd missed it.

Edward gave me that, with his stumbling speech and his piercing eyes and the spark I felt when his skin touched mine. I never wanted that feeling to go away.

And in that moment I knew. Just as he had for me, I'd given him back a sense of living, not just existing, not just surviving.

Of really being alive.

* * *

**A/N: **And there you have it…thank you all for reading! I can't tell you all how much your reviews on the last chapter meant to me. I cherished every one, really. Thank you all so much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well; please let me know what you thought!

This is going to be a slightly longer A/N than I usually write, but please humor me, I have a few extra people to thank today.

First, thanks as always to **averysubtlegift **for her superbeta skills. C, your help is invaluable, and your suggestions especially made this chapter better. Thank you so much!

Second, and I'm SUPER excited, **heather dawn **made me a banner for this story, and it's stunning! And **Kassiah** made me a thread on Twilighted, so the banner has a place to live too. It's brand new, but I'll post teasers and whatnot there, so stop by, and at least visit my banner, because **heather dawn** outdid herself. Thank both of you so much, I'm hugging both your necks right now! 3 My thread

Third, if you haven't already heard about The Twilight Fandom Gives Back, head over to www(dot)thefandomgivesback(dot)com. It's a fundraiser for Alex's Lemonade Stand to raise money for pediatric cancer research. There's an auction in the works, with some amazing donations and authors offering fics, banners, photos, cookbooks...all kinds of amazing stuff. Go check it out!

Finally, for everyone's adds, recs, tweets, and all other forms of pimping, thank you. Really. You humble me.

The boys are off to battle in Chapter 12…hold onto your hats, things are about to get a little heated! As always, leave me some love, I'll tease you in return. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Stephenie Meyer still owns Twilight and its characters. No copyright infringement intended. The permission slips for the time machine just haven't run out yet.**

**A special note: This chapter is posting on Veteran's Day. Although this is a fictional account, and the characters are made up, the larger battle and many of the events referred to herein did occur much the way they are described. Please take a moment and consider the sacrifice that all members of the Armed Forces have made and continue to make to keep us safe at home. I, for one, offer my humble gratitude and sincere admiration not just today, but every day.**

**

* * *

Edward**

_July 3, 1863, Morning_

Light just started to breach the horizon, but our camp was already abuzz. The General was meeting with General Longstreet this morning, and we all knew that meant orders for us.

When Em and I snuck back into camp after leaving Bella's house, we were surprised to find our company still in place. All the companies in General Pickett's Corps were to remain behind and guard the communication lines running through Chambersburg. For almost two days we remained nearly still, only shifting camp far enough to get nearer the main road.

We rounded up Jasper's belongings and bundled them together. We hid them amidst a pile of downed tree branches at the outskirts of the campsite. My lips mouthed a silent prayer that Jasper would wait a good bit before coming to look for them; he would be unaware that the Corps wasn't going all the way to Gettysburg straight away. If anyone caught sight of him sneaking back to gather his things, we'd all be in a world of trouble.

For the first few hours after we got back, I was a mess of nerves, certain someone would ask about Jasper's whereabouts and figure out we were lying when we claimed ignorance. But with every man looking toward the battle, wondering if and when we might be called to join our brothers at Gettysburg, Jasper went almost unnoticed. Since we weren't directly questioned by a superior officer, Emmett and I just shrugged if someone asked where he was. I think we both secretly hoped he'd return, or that some better explanation might present itself if only we waited.

Despite Jasper's request that we claim he ran off, Em and I both knew that would lead to an investigation of some sort. If we said he was gone, it leant voice to the word neither of us wanted to say: desertion. Deserters were hunted down and arrested. Punishment could be imprisonment, public lashing or even death, depending on the attitude of the commanding officer.

When we finally were ordered to the front last night, I was surprised to feel relief mixed in with the fear and unease that always came with the anticipation of a battle on the horizon. If we could just get away from this place, give Jasper a wider berth, chances were good that no one would find him. If we could get to the battle without anyone asking where he was, we could claim him as one of the inevitable thousands that would go missing on the battlefield.

After every engagement countless men were unaccounted for. Many were wounded, moved to battlefield hospitals and separated from their regiments. Hundreds, if not thousands more were dead, their bodies littering the fields. For days afterward, burial details would identify as many as they could, checking pockets and coats for names. Those that could be identified were added to the lists of casualties, those that couldn't were buried namelessly, their identities heaped in the ground with their bodies, lost to the outside world.

It broke my heart to lump Jasper in with the lists of missing, but it would save his life if we could just get that far.

Thinking of Jasper and his decision to stay behind inevitably drew my mind to Bella. She'd been on my mind almost constantly since Emmett and I trudged away from her house. I was by turns full of joy and hope at her kiss and then riddled with anxiety by the image of her retreat back to her house. She hadn't looked back at me, not once.

I wanted to feel hope, to grasp onto the passion and life I'd felt when her lips touched mine. I wanted to believe that her kiss, for it had been she who kissed me first, was a new beginning. A new start to this life that had gone so wrong so quickly for both of us with just one shot on that hill in Virginia.

But I couldn't shake the notion that her kiss hadn't been a beginning. She'd pulled away, and the look in her eyes as she gasped and clutched my lapels had been so full of uncertainty. I'd pulled her back as quickly as I could; I had to find a way to make her understand that I wanted it, that I wanted _her_.

I'd never felt anything like that kiss, her warm breath on my face, the sweetness of her mouth, all molasses and berries from breakfast.

Still, I couldn't see clear of the fear in my mind that her kiss wasn't the beginning, but that it was goodbye.

When she spoke, when she said she still wasn't certain that she wanted me to come back, my heart clenched. I tried to focus on her care for my well-being, on her plea that I survive this battle. I hoped that meant she might change her mind one day, that she might be able to forgive me for the devastation I'd unwittingly brought to her life. But the sight of her back - walking away from me while I silently begged her to turn back just once, to meet my eyes, to raise a hand in farewell, anything to leave me hoping there might be a chance - that sight nearly crushed me.

I'd been at war with myself for the last two days, especially given my unexpected proximity to her house. Could I sneak back? Would she want me to?

I was saved from the agony of that decision by an almost constant call to guard duty. We manned the road with a near sense of ferocity, some, I thought, reflecting the frustration at not being a part of the battle, and some in gratitude for the distance between them and what we heard was some of the hardest fighting of the war.

I myself was torn. Part of me was grateful to be out of harm's way. I hated battles and killing, hated the blood and the screams of the fallen and the smell of death. But the part of me that feared that Bella truly never wanted to see me again ached for the danger of the battlefield. I'd felt so whole, so alive when I was with her, and now I felt so empty. If I couldn't find life outside of Bella and if she didn't want me, perhaps I could at last find peace in death.

I didn't want to die, not really, but for the first time, I found myself not wanting to live in a world that didn't have Bella in it. It would never be enough to know she existed, that she was out there somewhere. If she couldn't want me, I simply didn't want to be.

"Orders, Top," Emmett's gruff voice startled me from my thoughts, and his tone gave me pause.

Usually, before an engagement, Em was boisterous, exuding confidence he may or may not have been feeling just to get the men up for the battle. But the tone I just heard was different, ragged, hesitant, even fearful.

I looked up to meet my cousin's eyes and the blood in my veins turned to ice. His face was stormy, dark eyes flashing. His brow furrowed and I could see the tension in his massive chest and shoulders.

But it was the sight of his hands that turned my guts to liquid. Emmett, usually so stoic, so unflappable, stood in front of me now, face pale and hands twisting his cap so hard that his knuckles were white.

"We're to charge the high ground," Emmett jerked his chin, my eyes followed his gesture, and I sighed.

We were grouped on what I'd learned was called Seminary Ridge, not much a ridge at all if you asked me. The ridge in the area, at least by my estimation, was the high ground Emmett was glaring at, looking for all the world as if the copse of trees on the other side of the field we were evidently ordered to charge might be ready to rise up and bear arms against us alongside the Union army.

The trouble with the orders, as I could see with no more than a glance, was the logistics behind carrying them out. Our current position kept us behind the protection of the lines of trees. Once we emerged from the cover though, the field we would march across was completely exposed. There would be no cover. Not a rock or a tree to shield us as we marched toward the Union forces already entrenched behind a low stone wall atop the ridge.

The wall jutted out at an angle in front of a small copse of trees. Lines of navy-clad men flanked the trees on either side, and cannons dotted the ridge as well, interspersed among the groups of Yankees.

If I'd been ordered into Hell itself I'd have felt no greater fear.

"It's a damn suicide mission, Top," Emmett growled again and I dragged my eyes away from the tall grasses of the field ahead. The overgrown stalks of grass swayed lazily in the breeze, heat shimmering off their tops in the July sun. On any other day, that field would have been like any other; soon however, it would be a place of death and suffering.

I couldn't say I was surprised. We'd barely breached the battle grounds yesterday before stories almost too amazing to believe began spreading through the ranks like wildfire. Stories of a company from somewhere far up north, maybe it was Maine? A bunch of boys under the command of a professor by the name of Chamberlain that ran low on ammunition. Word had it that when they ran out, that professor ordered his men to fix bayonets and mount a direct charge to hold the left flank of the whole Union force at Gettysburg.

It seemed impossible that a bayonet charge could succeed against greater, fresher numbers. Apparently this Chamberlain fellow's men were awfully loyal; it wasn't many a company that'd fix bayonets and run straight into enemy gunfire. But fix and run they did, straight down into a regiment from Alabama. The way we heard it, those boys from Alabama were so shocked, a good many of them couldn't even fire their weapons, and they were taken prisoner. Those Maine boys held their positions for nearly two hours before they could be reinforced, quite a blow to our boys up there. Taking the flank might have collapsed the whole Union force and ended this whole mess before I ever had to load my rifle.

From what we heard tell as we marched in last night, the fighting had been fierce all across the field for two full days. The high ground had been taken and lost on both sides. Bodies littered the ground everywhere in fields and on hills, between copses of trees and on rocky outcroppings. Blue coats mixed with gray; sides didn't matter once a man died.

I sighed. Looking across that field, I truly felt as though I was looking into the jaws of Death. We'd stared Death down a good many times, Jasper, Em and I. At Manassas and Antietam, at Fredericksburg, and at Chancellorsville.

Hell, at Chancellorsville, Death had a name: Jacob. Death had a beautiful, kind, passionate wife. Would that I had succumbed to his hand then.

Again I considered Bella, feeling almost removed from my own feelings. Had she been saying goodbye? Because God knew, if she had, I would welcome a bullet on that field.

"Top, did you hear a damn thing I just said to you?" Emmett growled at me again and I started.

"Sorry Em," I muttered a little sheepishly. "I was only thinking –"

"About Bella," his voice was gruff, but his eyes softened. "I know Top. I know your heart's on fire and your guts are in knots. You don't know coming from going except to think of that girl, and I can't say I blame you."

He grinned, or came as near to as a man about to march into a firestorm was able.

"Hell Top, I saw her kiss you. If a girl kissed me like that, wild horses couldn't tear me away. I know," he cut me off as I was about to protest that it hadn't been I who walked away. "But she had her reasons. You have to honor them, even if you don't understand them. Right now I need your head here." He pointed his finger sharply toward the ground. "Right here. Not back at her farm, not in that kitchen, not in the yard. Here, on this field, or we'll both walk onto it, but only one of us will walk off. Or maybe, Edward, neither of us will."

His unusual use of my real name pulled me up short, stopping the words before they crossed my lips. I looked up at my cousin. Emmett's usually jovial face was creased with lines of worry. His dark eyes, usually so full of determination and strength, usually shining with mirth or mischief, were flat.

I nodded, gulping. He was right. This was damn near a suicide mission. Fully engaged in nothing but the here and now, I still likely wouldn't walk off this battlefield - whether that meant I took a bullet in the leg or lost my life. If I ever wanted a prayer of seeing Bella again I had to put my mind on the field.

If only it were that simple.

But I sighed and rose, following Em as he strode a bit away from the rest of the men in our company. He often did this, pulled Jasper and I aside to point out this or that related to the orders he'd just heard from the commander.

"They're saying it's about a mile, Top," he said, looking out toward the lines of blue atop the crest of the next ridge. "It could take us a quarter of an hour to even get near them. A quarter of an hour, maybe longer, where we might as well be pigs in a pen for slaughter." He shook his head, then went on. "The artillery will start a barrage soon; the Old Man wants a pretty solid bombardment for a while, maybe a couple of hours. Then we're to take the field."

He pointed to the copse of trees atop the ridge behind the low stone wall.

"That's more or less our target," he said. "That ridge is Cemetery Ridge. Seems there's quite the graveyard up there. It's the highest ground around aside from the Round Top over yonder." He pointed again, this time off to our right a bit to the high, dome-topped hills off the road. The smaller of these had been the sight of the Union bayonet charge yesterday.

I nodded again, looking out at the field ahead.

"That's General Hancock up there," Emmett went on, gesturing now to a group of Union officers on horseback, near mirror images of our own command surveying the ground in front of them. "He held the ridge all day yesterday. We'd best hope his luck's not as good today, eh Top?"

"Or that ours is better," I cracked a smile as Em grinned. That was the best I could offer to tell him my head really was in the battle.

Cannon fire punctuated my words. Artillery shells began whistling out of cannon up and down our lines. Smoke and haze filled the air, along with dust where the shells blew dirt out of the ground. Most of the horses on the lines were battle-ready, still and quiet; a few were still green though, and they screamed as the first shots were fired. Cavalrymen were skilled on horseback, and none of the men astride the nervous mounts showed any sign of being shaken, but as I watched a few reining their mounts back into line, I found myself once again grateful to be afoot. I was no slouch on a horse, but I had no desire to try to calm an animal during all that racket. It was a wonder if I could even calm myself.

The order came down the line to get into formation. As we formed ranks, standing at attention as the mounted officers began riding down the lines, I could feel my anxiety building with each passing moment. It was a familiar feeling, almost a welcome one. Battle jitters made me feel more aware, more alert to my surroundings. They were fear and excitement and anger and sadness and sheer terror all rolled into one big ball of nerves, but without them I'd never be able to pull a trigger or see an enemy in the split second before he raised his rifle to shoot me.

I don't know how long we stood there, line upon line of gray coats, some dirtier than others, some stained with blood from battles past. I didn't speak unless spoken to, but no clear thoughts ran through my mind. I stared out into that big wide field, out beyond the grass waving lazily in the hot summer breeze to the line of blue-clad men on the ridge ahead. How many of them would die today? How many of us would fall at their hands?

And when the smoke settled and the blood dried and the bodies rotted away, would it even have done any good?

Sharp hoofbeats clattered by and startled me from my daze. Emmett hissed at me and I stood sharply at attention next to him as I realized it was General Pickett himself, and that meant only one thing: it was time to go.

"Up, Men," the General shouted as he rode by. General Pickett was one for pomp and circumstance, and for rousing speeches. But it seemed even he grasped the magnitude of what we were to do, for despite his flourish, he was brief as he continued. "Up and to your posts! Don't forget today that you are from Old Virginia!"

A chorus of "Virginia! Virginia!" rose from the ranks in his wake as our commanders began issuing the order for forward progress. General Armistead, our own commander, strode out a few paces ahead of the lines and shouted out his own exhortation, one we had all heard before, "Men, remember your wives, your mothers, your sisters, and your sweethearts!" He raised his sword then, and with one last glance back toward the men, lowered it again with the shout, "FORWARD, MARCH!"

As my feet propelled me forward with my brothers, forward toward our own one-time countrymen armed against us, forward toward certain death, I could think but one thought, and I mouthed it silently as sure as if I were praying to God in the heavens.

_Watch out for her Jasper. Keep her safe until I can find a way back to her._

_

* * *

_**A/N: **In case you haven't heard, there's a pretty incredible effort going on at www (dot) thefandomgivesback (dot) com to raise money for Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation. ALSF benefits the search for a cure for childhood cancer. Please take a moment to head over to the website and check out all the amazing auctions by authors and readers in the fandom.

Thanks as always to my beta, averysubtlegift for her words of encouragement, and especially today for taking time out of her day off so I could post this chapter for you!

Extra thanks as well this week to The Fictionators for rec'ing TLWH. I know many of you are here because of Kassiah's and Heather's kind words. Thank you ladies, so very much!

Finally, thanks to all of you for reading, for your adds, and for your reviews. I appreciate each of you so much. Please bear with me in the coming chapters; the research has intensified and posting may take a bit longer, but I feel strongly that the sequence of events at Gettysburg must be told with the accuracy and respect they deserve.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **This comes at the beginning this time because of the nature of this chapter. I know it's been a long break since the last update; real life happened, and this was a particularly hard chapter to write. Please remember this story is set in a time of war, and as I've said before, I'm trying to do justice to the magnitude of what happened at Gettysburg and on dozens of other battlefields in the Civil War, and as such, this chapter is a bit heavier on history than some others. I'm working through the next one already, and it should make an appearance much sooner than this one did. Thank you all for your patience, as well as for your thoughtful and insightful comments, I'm humbled by your words and encouragement.

As always, my thanks to **averysubtlegift** for her beta magic and reassurance.

All things Twilight and the characters therein belong to Stephenie Meyer, no copyright infringement intended. The battle at Gettysburg, the events of July 3, 1863, the battlefield anecdotes contained below, and the Rebel Yell belong to the ages.

* * *

**Edward**

_July 3, 1863, Afternoon, Pickett's Charge_

Artillery fire screamed overhead and the sounds of fired shots filled the air so heavily it was as though time stopped in the moment a single rifle was fired and the sound from that one gun lived on in perpetuity. That ongoing thunder always haunted my dreams in the nights during a battle, but it was never as harsh as the real thing, booming all around the lines of men trudging into the chaos.

I found no comfort in the familiar sounds of battle today. I took pause in that for a moment; after more than two years, there was usually something eerily reassuring about the sharp cracks of gunfire mingled with the rumble of cannon, despite the terror and bloodshed that followed. There was no comfort to be found in this though. No solace to be sought in the slaughter into which we now marched.

The echoes of cries to take the field for Virginia this day rang in my head even as the crash of artillery shells threatened to drown out every other sound in the world.

Always before a battle we were exhorted to press on, to fight for the land we called home. I had few feelings about the fight for Virginia; none of the three of us did. We lived there, it's true, but our families had come from other places, and we didn't favor slavery. We, like many of our brothers in arms, fought because it was what was expected of healthy young men. Had we not joined up when we did, we would have been conscripted last spring anyhow, more than likely. We hadn't the money to pay a substitute to fight in our stead; nor, I suspected, would we have paid even if we had.

Substitutes were common among the well-to-do. For a set price, a wealthy family with a son could pay a man of lesser means to take his place in the draft. The conscription office didn't much care who came to fight, just so long as someone came when called. Many soldiers in both armies scorned substitution, feeling that it just meant more poor men fighting a rich man's war.

For the substitute, however, his fee was often enough to board, feed, and clothe his family in a manner much improved from their position before the fee was paid. In fact it usually amounted to more than he might make in a year, depending on his trade. But with every new company made up largely of substitutes came mutters from other men about how they hoped never to meet the coward who paid the bounty on the street, and that if he did, woe betide the other man. Fear ran rampant on the battlefield, and rightly so, but it was looked upon as shameful to pay one's way out of fighting to begin with.

I trudged across the wide expanse of grass and dirt before me, staring into the barrels of countless rifles, muskets, and cannon ahead, and I began to wonder anew what I was doing here. Certainly I'd joined up because, as I said, it was expected, and the thought of Em or Jasper joining up without the other two of us seemed nearly inconceivable.

Since our fateful night in Bella's barn though, even as I feared she would never forgive me, I began imagining a life, a future even, with Bella. It seemed ridiculous; I'd known her for a mere three days, and yet I couldn't see clear to a life without her in it somehow. There were so many hindrances, even if she forgave me the death of her husband whose blood I still felt on my hands as keenly as if it was only this morning I'd held his limp body as he breathed his last. Where would we live? What if the Confederacy prevailed in this war and suddenly our ties to our homes stretched not only across hundreds of miles and several state lines, but across the boundaries of two rival nations?

I'd known in the moment our fingers brushed for the first time that I'd renounce home and country for her in an instant if she'd have me, and any care I had for the consequences was erased by the fire ignited by her kiss. So why was I here on this field fighting to further invade Bella's home, marching to destroy it? I wouldn't desert, too much suspicion would be raised by my disappearance in the wake of Jasper's. And someone had to watch out for Em.

Yet I couldn't help but wonder, as I squinted against the bright afternoon sun, if each step I took toward the firing line of her countrymen wasn't as much of a betrayal as the shot I fired at Jacob. Even if she forgave me that transgression, how many more would I commit and have to beg absolution for before she could no longer grant it?

The field under our feet was dry, yet I felt as though I trod through mud as my doubt grew with each passing step and thought of Bella. My feet were heavy; each step was a labor, a battle in itself between my brain willing my feet forward and my gut, which screamed at me to turn tail and run. The air was so thick with gun powder from the cannonade our artillery corps launched this morning to clear our way across the field that I could taste the metal and fire in the air. My nostrils, throat, and lungs burned with every breath. It was as though the sparks on the grass left behind by exploding cannon fire leapt up from the ground and into my chest.

Emmett's reaction before we formed ranks was as close as I'd seen him come to questioning an order. I heard fear in his growl as he'd stared out at the field ahead, but also disillusionment and defeat. We'd marched into heavy fighting many a time in the two years since we'd joined up, but this was madness. We were lambs to the slaughter with nothing to do but walk straight into death's awaiting grasp.

I glanced to my right at Emmett as we marched on. His face was hard, a mask of grim determination. That was one thing that could always be counted on with Em; he might be scared as hell, but his resolve never wavered. I couldn't ever tell if he liked the fighting or if it was the thrill of the action going on all around us that propelled him forward as more seasoned soldiers all around us broke and ran. I'd asked him about that once, just after Antietam. His eyes had hardened and all the muscles in his body tensed, but his voice was easy as he answered.

"Hell, Top," he'd said. "I could skulk off to every battle pissing myself like half these boys. I'm scared to death just like they are. But the way I see it, I'm more likely to live if I have my wits about me, and I can't keep my wits if I'm knock-kneed and blubbering. You've seen what happens to these boys when they get out there and they let the fear win." And with that last, he'd clammed up, refusing to say any more on the subject.

I'd nodded though, soberly. I knew exactly what he meant. I'd watched more than one soldier cut down where he stood, trembling and terrified. A man might watch the enemy walk right out of the trees, take aim, and fire directly at him and never move a muscle to defend himself if the fear gripped him hard enough. More than once I'd seen a boy stand on the field and load shot after shot into his weapon, staring glassily at the advancing enemy. Trouble was, he'd never fire a shot; he'd just keep loading one atop the other until an enemy bullet found him and ended his fear right along with his life, or else brought about a new kind of terror – the kind that comes with a battle wound.

Emmett's voice startled me from my thoughts, and I jumped a bit even as we continued our march forward.

"It's starting to get thick Top, get your head on the field." He was gruff, voice leaden but forceful. I mumbled something about being here and to leave off, but there was no fire in my words. It was bad enough we were on this death march, but Jasper was missing, which meant one less to look out for us. I supposed one could say it was one less to look out for, but that was never the case where Jasper was concerned. His knack for reading a man often also meant he could sense when one of us was lapsing in a fight. It seems impossible to imagine such a thing, but the bone-weariness that comes with hour upon hour of terror and aggression linked with the physical toll the noise and the movement of a battle takes on a man make for a sometimes-deadly loss of alertness. Jasper could see that in my face or Em's, sometimes before we realized it was overtaking us, and he always had the right words to bring us back to the task at hand.

I knew Em was on edge without Jasper. I knew he was worrying about me, and I knew there was nothing I could do to relieve even a breath of that worry. Emmett could withstand a lot of things, but I knew that if something happened to Jasper or to me, he'd take it hard. They'd both been worrying over me pretty much since Chancellorsville. I knew one or the other of them kept an eye on me most of the time, even sometimes at the risk of danger to himself. I was sure Emmett was feeling a lot of added burden; I very nearly needed a guardian on the battlefield anymore, I was so distracted by thoughts of Chancellorsville every time a new engagement began. It troubled me, but up to now I hadn't been able to tear my thoughts away from the face of that Yank – of _Jacob _– dying in my arms on the battlefield.

But, like this morning, thoughts of that fateful engagement on the hill took my mind not to the fading light in the other man's eyes, but to Bella. I feared for her safety almost as much as I wondered – no, not wondered, _hoped_ – that she feared for mine. Her home was so close to the field, and Alice's tale haunted my mind and my heart even as I walked into certain peril myself. I felt a bit more at ease knowing Jasper was there to watch out for them, although come to think of it, Rosalie was a force to be reckoned with all her own. It was more than likely she wouldn't let any harm come to Bella, but Jasper was family. He knew, just from a few brief hours, just how important her safety was to me.

For the first time in months, years maybe, I had something to live for. I didn't know if there was a future for Bella and me. If I allowed myself to see reason, hope was grim. I killed her husband, and even though she said she forgave me that transgression, her forgiveness was borne out of understanding of the role of a soldier. It didn't mean I'd earned her absolution for making her a widow. She sent me away and said she never wanted to see me again. In truth, there was little I could hope for, and yet if anything befell her as a result of this mess, I'd never forgive myself for leaving her

"Dammit. Top, you're doing it again. Get your eyes up off the ground and watch those boys on that ridge; we're near enough a good marksman could hit us now. I'd hate to have to take a bullet because you're busy staring at those clumsy feet of yours." Emmett nudged me and there was a hint of playfulness in his words, but only a hint, and his eyes never left the ridge ahead. I knew he was trying anything he could, and I resolved to quiet my thoughts as best I could.

Suddenly the earth just to my right erupted in a shower of dirt and grass, and thoughts of anything besides keeping my feet evaporated. I instinctively ducked my head as the dirt flew, shielding my eyes as best I could against the showers of earth and grass. I heard the screams of the men that had, until moments ago, been marching alongside me on the right and knew some hadn't been so lucky as I. From the corner of my eye as the dirt began to fall, I saw some of the boys from my own company down in the field, some screaming and moaning, blood pouring from wounds or gaping holes where limbs once attached to knees or hips or shoulders. Others weren't so lucky, or perhaps they were the fortunate ones; their eyes were glassy or closed in mangled faces, limbs and bodies twisted grotesquely where they fell.

I shivered for a moment, offering a silent prayer for the fallen and trudged on. Shots began whizzing through the air all around and I realized with a start that we had crossed the road they'd called the Emmitsburg Pike. We were near enough to the boys in blue to begin to see them individually instead of just as a mass of blue. More importantly, I could see the raised weapons pointed in our direction, the faces of men as they fired and quickly reloaded weapons, the lather on the horses of the officers brave enough or foolish enough to still be mounted. The low stone wall that was, at least for now, as good as the Promised Land, loomed not two hundred paces ahead, but as the frequency of gunfire and erupting cannon somehow increased even more, it may have been two hundred miles.

My eyes remained ahead, locked on the corner of the wall jutting out from below a small copse of trees. Emmett yelled something from my left that may have been a warning or a command, I had no way of telling, for above the din of the battle I couldn't make out his words. Screams began to run one into another along with the shots as the intensity of the battle reached an even more fevered pitch. Emmett cried out again, this time with an edge of something other than command in his pitch, and I turned to see him pulling at the bottom of the right sleeve of his coat. Two clean holes ran through above the seam, one on either side of where it folded up to encase his arm. A slowly-growing red stain showed at the edges of the holes and my heart stopped in my chest for a moment.

"Is it bad?" I yelled at him even as we both kept moving, Em's continued march answering my question as plainly as his returned shouts.

"Naw, I'll be alright. Think the bastard just nicked me 's all." Em hollered back at me over the din. He pulled a slightly dirty kerchief out of his pocket and held it out to me. I nodded and we stopped our forward progress for just a moment.

Without the time or shelter to take a look at Em's arm, there wasn't any real way of telling how bad the wound really was. While it was doubtful that he'd bleed enough to cause harm given how slowly the crimson seeped onto the wool of his coat, tying it off would staunch the flow and give him full use of his arm without worry.

I set my rifle carefully down on the stock, balancing the barrel precariously against my own hip. One pesky thing about these new rifles: they're damn finicky. I've seen a barrel split clean in two over just a couple specks of dirt. Emmett held his arm out from the shoulder and I deftly tied the kerchief around the wound, taking a moment to marvel at the perfectly clean holes driven in one sleeve and right out the other.

Before the war, I would never have believed such a thing possible. But in my two and a half years of soldiering, I'd seen more close calls, near-misses, and, frankly, near-hits than I could count. I'd seen men wearing hats with holes shot clean through without even being grazed by the offending bullets. Even open threads on a man's coat where the ball grazed clean across his back without ever touching his flesh.

One of the more famous stories, although a somber one, was about a field nurse at Antietam who was tending to a wounded soldier lying on the ground. She felt a ball pierce through the sleeve of her dress, much like the one that found Emmett. It pierced straight through the fabric on both sides of her arm, leaving her unharmed, but then found its way directly into the man she was nursing and killed him on the spot.

I shook off thoughts of all the strange and frightening lore that had come from the battles I'd seen and from others I only heard about in the Western front. No matter how much I questioned my reasons for continuing on in this mess, I didn't want to die unawares anymore than any other soldier on this field. I finished the knot in the kerchief and took up my rifle, falling into step again next to Em, who had already resumed his walk across the field. He'd instinctively begun to walk slightly hunched, a posture adopted by many of us in heavy fire, as if the stoop of the shoulders would protect a man's vitals from invading gunfire.

Men to our right and left began to fall as the brigade ahead of us thinned from artillery and rifle fire, leaving gaps for bullets to come through and pierce our ranks. When a soldier fell in the line, the men to either side of the gap he left moved to close it, but stray shots always found their way through. As soon as the gap from a fallen soldier was filled in the front line, one was created in the lines behind as we moved out of the way so as not to step on the wounded or dead if we could help it.

The fear of the battle coursed through my veins; I was alive with it despite my misgivings. My heart all but pounded out of my chest, and I could hear it in my ears even over the constant thundering of shots and the screams of the wounded and dying. My feet moved almost of their own accord, and terror radiated into my limbs, causing my fingers to tingle as they clutched my rifle.

And yet I pressed on, hunched against enemy fire, shoulder to shoulder with Emmett.

The smell of blood and burned flesh began to mingle with the other smells from the field – displaced earth, artillery smoke and shrapnel, burning grass from the small fires sparked by cannon fire. Horses whinnied and nickered and screamed in terror; even the most well-trained war horse would spook eventually. I saw a young officer off to my left tumble out of the saddle of his big grey as the animal was hit by artillery fire. The mount's eyes rolled back and its screams died before they even crossed its bridle. Its rider fared little better, hitting the ground with his foot still wedged awkwardly in the stirrup, bent at such an angle as to indicate a break in the leg somewhere, but he had mere seconds to scream out in pain before the horse's body crashed down atop him as it fell, crushing the man. I muttered an oath, hoping against hope that the impact had killed the man. Pinned under the weight of that horse, he wasn't long for this world otherwise; I could only hope his end came quickly.

Whipping my head back to eye the low stone wall ahead, I realized we were within perhaps a few hundred yards of the enemy. The ranks ahead of us began to break and run ahead, initiating the final charge as was customary in a planned march such as this one. I heard many a man let loose what had come to be known as the Rebel yell. Soldiers plunged forward toward the wall hollering and yelling and screaming like banshees even as they were cut down by Yankee bullets.

Suddenly from my own left side I heard Emmett's voice in my ear. "You watch your front, Top!" He shouted over the din. "I'll see you when we get out of this, or I'll see you when we don't." I locked eyes with my cousin for a split second, saying everything I couldn't put into words with a glance.

Understanding crossed his own gaze, picking up on the fear and apprehension that must have been etched on my face, but also the concern for his safety as much as my own. Escape from this nightmare seemed nearly impossible; the likelihood that Emmett and I would die here seemed greater with each passing step, with every man I saw cut down by enemy fire. What fate would befall us here? It seemed a cruel twist of fate that I might perish here on this field, mere days after finally finding a reason to live again. And yet how could we survive?

Emmett held my gaze for a split second longer and nodded once. Then he turned to face the enemy, gripping his rifle in his hands, bayonet fixed to the end. Suddenly he let out a wailing shriek of his own and he took off toward that low stone wall at a dead run. It was nearly all I could do to catch him up as I ran after him, and I could hear the yell bursting from my own lips as well. The slope ahead leading to the wall was a mass of confusion and chaos, of blood and death. Down the line just a bit from the spot we aimed for, five artillery guns fired in unison, cutting a gap so large in our ranks I thought for sure we'd never fill it. Men – no – _pieces _of men flew in every direction, and blood soaked the earth so heavily that the dirt that was dry moments before was turning to a reddish mud underfoot.

General Armistead was still ahead, still leading us toward the wall, his hat perched atop his sword bouncing as he ran, yelling along with the rest of us.

Suddenly, amazingly, part of the line of Union soldiers ahead of us behind the wall began to fall back even before we reached them. Even in our weakened state, our advancing brigades seemed to have superior numbers to this group of Yankee defenders, and with the unexpected retreat of some of their force, a glimmer of hope shone through for the briefest moment as we neared the stone wall. I stopped and took aim at a Yankee directly in my path and saw his eyes dim as he fell when my shot struck him cleanly in the forehead. I shuddered, but lowered the weapon, reloading as I ran.

The General reached the wall and clambered over it, many of the men in our brigade following closely on his heels. So few Yanks manned the two large cannon defending this section of the line that I saw some of our men beginning to succeed in attempts to overpower the artillerymen and take control of the guns. We swarmed over the wall now like ants descending on a dropped plate of food, but the Yanks held fast, drawing their weapons and firing as quickly as they could, then fighting hand-to-hand with bayonets or swords when some of our number got too close.

Out of the corner of my eye as I went to hoist myself over the wall in Emmett's wake, I saw General Armistead's hat fall from his sword as his arm fell and he jerked with the impact of a bullet, then another, and still a third. He fell, still alive but wounded. I felt a lump in my throat in spite of the chaos all around me. He was a man I was proud to fight for, but more than that, he had a good record of leading us out of a battle as sure as he'd lead us into one.

Who would lead us out of this mess now that he had fallen?

I leapt from the wall and drew my rifle, once again taking aim at a man in blue, my shot once again finding its mark. The man crumpled to the ground, still alive but, I hoped, not for long. The fighting around me was too thick to consider reloading at that moment, so I clutched at my rifle, holding the bayoneted end of the barrel in front of me to fend off hand-to-hand combatants as best I could until the moment to reload presented itself. Unthinking, I gripped the underside of the barrel with my left hand to steady the weapon, not considering the shot that had spun down the barrel a moment before, heating it to searing temperatures.

I screamed as I felt the flesh on my hand burn against the steel of the rifle barrel, but I couldn't tear it away. A Yankee ran toward me, sword drawn – an officer, it seemed – eyes wild. I raised the point of my bayonet to fend off his parries, but he was well-trained. His advance drove me backward, and I lifted my rifle, stopping his blade from coming down to take me across the neck more than once. I scrambled back, feet wheeling and tumbling as I tripped over the bodies of the fallen.

The officer's sword thrusts increased in frequency as he advanced, the wild look in his eyes resembling that of a rabid animal. He swung the blade from the side and caught me in my left arm. Pain shot up into my shoulder and down through my elbow and into my fingers with his stab, and the weakness the wound left in its wake made keeping a grip on my rifle difficult.

He pulled the blade back and away from my shoulder but advanced again, and I struggled to defend myself. Again his thrusts found flesh, this time in the soft area inside my shoulder and under my collarbone. I screamed, losing my hold on my rifle, and with it, my last hope at shielding myself. Even as I realized I was done for, that this was the moment in which I would die, I caught a glimpse of Emmett, eyes wide with horror as he too recognized the imminence of my final moments. He turned and began to run toward the officer who, in turn, fixed his maniacal gaze on me and raised his sword to deliver the final blow.

Emmett would be too late of course, I knew this as I watched the glint of the blade in the sunlight. The officer began his thrust, the blade getting closer. So swiftly it moved, and yet, in this my final moment, I felt as though it was taking an eternity to find its mark. Suddenly the man's eyes grew large as saucers and blood began pouring from his mouth. I had no time to identify the source of the bullet that saved my life, however, because the officer fell toward me, sword still pointing toward me. The weight of his body crashed into mine and I lost my footing at the same time I felt the blade pierce my thigh clean through.

I screamed again as I fell back, my backside hitting the earth first. The lifeless body of the officer followed me down, his hand still tangled in the hilt of his sword. The blade had buried itself in the earth when I fell back, pinning me down. As the officer tumbled into my torso, the weight of his form crashed into my shoulders, chest, and face. My head flew back, eyes already teary from where his head hit my nose, and the last sound I heard was a sharp crack and Emmett's voice bellowing my name.

And then, nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **This comes once again at the beginning of the chapter because the contained subject matter continues to be heavy, and some of it is a little gruesome. As always, this story is set in a time of war, and at the risk of sounding like a broken record, I wish to do justice to the brave men (and a few women) that fought and died at Gettysburg and on dozens of other battlefields in the Civil War.

You all humbled me again with your reviews, and I can offer only my thanks.

My thanks as well and as always to **averysubtlegift** for her beta magic. C, as always, I haven't the words.

All things Twilight and the characters therein belong to Stephenie Meyer, no copyright infringement intended. The battle at Gettysburg, the events of July 3, 1863, and the battlefield anecdotes contained below belong to the ages.

* * *

**Emmett**

"EDWARD!"

My cousin's name ripped from my throat as I watched the Yankee officer slump over from my shot and collide with Edward, sending him tumbling to the ground, his head slamming back into the low stone wall we'd only just finally managed to breach a few moments before. His scream as he fell died on his lips with the collision, and only after the first wave of horror at seeing him fall passed and I began to run closer was I gripped by a second, even stronger blast of fear.

The bloodied officer's sword had pierced through Top's leg all the way into the dirt beneath them both. Rather, it had been dirt; now it looked more like red-stained mud. Blood pooled from Top's wound in the gashes in the ground from so many sets of boots leaping down from the wall, and from the scuffles that had followed.

My feet felt trapped in that same mud, not a dozen paces from him. Jerking my head this way and that, I considered my best route to reach him and get him out of here. Out in the distance I could see the line of trees from which we'd marched not hours earlier. How quickly things had gone wrong. How had they not seen it? The general, everyone, they must have known they were ordering us to die, and yet order us they had. And now I had to find a way to get to Top, haul him back over that wall, and get him back across the field to safety where he could be looked after.

I might as well have tried to pluck the sun from the sky. To my right, a swarm of men in grey coats were taking control of several of the cannon that were perched among the copses of trees near the jutted angle in the wall where we'd crossed. In the confusion it seemed one of the Union regiments broke and fell back, leaving a gap around the artillery. Our boys wasted no time securing them, although I could see swarms of blue moving in our direction from beyond the ridge where we fought; they wouldn't hold those guns for long.

In that moment I saw a flash of blue from the corner of my eye and spun at the same moment a Yank came charging at me, a grisly grimace on his face. He'd pulled free from the mob around the nearest cannon, weapon stripped from his grip. He ran at me holding nothing more than a belt knife, but in that moment, I knew fear as though I was staring into the mouth of one of those huge cannon. The Yank's eyes were wild; he had the look of a man who'd already realized he was doomed but would take as many of us along with him when he fell as he could. Men like this one were the most dangerous of foes. If they abandoned their will to live for even the briefest moment in battle, woe betide the men that stood in their paths.

My feet were rooted to the dirt for a long moment, but somewhere from the very depths of my mind, Top's voice rang in my head. He needed help; I was his only hope.

I roared at the man and hurtled toward him as I drew my sidearm. It was empty, but the Yank didn't know that. His eyes grew wide and he skidded to a halt a few feet in front of me. It seemed that staring down the barrel of a gun restored some of his senses, at least momentarily. He threw his hands in the air, sending the knife bouncing harmlessly away in the blood-covered dirt. I stopped too, panting and staring at the Yank, my pistol still pointed into his face. For one brief moment we were frozen in that space. He stared down the barrel of my sidearm. I stared at his wild eyes.

Before he could realize what I was doing, I raised the arm holding the pistol, tossing the weapon only a few inches above my hand so I could grasp the barrel. I mentally winced as the still-hot metal made contact with my palm, but I had little other choice. I lifted my arm further and brought it down swiftly to crack the Yank across the forehead. His eyes widened and then closed as he crumpled, and I spared him no more thought. The likelihood I'd killed him was slim; I'd had more practice than I cared to think about with that particular defense. I knew the feeling of crushing a man's skull, and I knew the feeling of making just enough contact to knock him out. This man would live, I was certain.

I turned my sights back to Top, still slumped against the stone wall, and closed the few paces between us. He was so still. How could anyone, any_thing _be so still amid all this chaos and motion? Men flung themselves at one another all around me, their faces frenzied, their cries feral. The worst of it seemed to be over, the one-sided slaughter giving way to every man fighting for a way out, for one more day to live. I saw men running or walking or trudging or limping back across the field toward our lines.

When the general fell, I knew many of the men would break. It's not in a man's nature to fight without direction, without purpose or cause. Under the scrutiny of our leaders, we would line up and march into certain death, but without continuation of that scrutiny, without consequences or orders, a man's desire to live outweighed his obligation to fulfill his duty.

Many enlisted men disparaged the officers when they thought no one was listening; it was easy for us foot soldiers to scoff at those polished-looking men astride their huge war horses barking out orders that sent us to our deaths. They had manservants or slaves to cook their meals and serve them, to bring them wash water and clean their uniforms. It seemed a charmed life by army standards, but I knew better. I'd seen the pain in General Armistead's eyes as he'd ordered the march today. He'd known many of us wouldn't come back, but he'd also known that when he gave the order and marched out ahead of us into the fray that we would follow.

Who would we follow now that he'd fallen?

I'd been disgusted with the orders they'd given this morning; then I was disgusted with myself for doubting my superiors. Not because I was wrong in saying it was a suicide mission, it clearly had been. Mangled bodies littered the ground all the way across the field of approach, and blood mingled with the dirt under limp bodies piled one atop the other where they'd fallen.

But I knew this battle was over, and we'd lost. The ground behind the stone wall ran crimson, but it marked our high water point. This was, I knew, the farthest we'd penetrate enemy lines. There were too many of them, and after the catastrophic charge across the field to get here, there were too few of us.

All that was left to do now was run. Run, and hope I could get Top out of here alive.

If he even lived now.

I rolled the dead officer off of him, grunting at with the effort. The dead were like large, unwieldy sacks of grain if the sack was tied too loosely, allowing the grain to tumble around inside the bag. It flowed and shifted, making the bag's weight nearly unmanageable for the carrier. Dead men were the same; they were heavy and lumpy and near impossible to move in any useful manner. When I finally shoved the officer's corpse to the side, I was seized by fear. As still as Top had looked before, I was unprepared for this.

People speak of the dead and dying as looking peaceful. They say that when a man sleeps, even if he's succumbed to illness or a wound, that he appears calm, at peace.

Anyone that said that had never seen the face of a man that fell as he was wounded, face frozen in a mask of pain. Top's features were slack, but there was no peace in his open mouth, silenced mid-scream as he fell. There was no peace in his hands, balled into fists, too late to defend the attack that put him here. All I saw when I looked at my cousin was agony, and all I felt was terror.

I gulped and bent, hands suddenly shaking as I reached out to feel for any sign of life. At first glance, I feared the worst; he was so pale, so still. As I stooped closer, I nearly wept with relief when I saw his chest rise almost imperceptibly. His breaths were shallow, but I didn't care. As long as he drew breath I wouldn't falter.

Gingerly I stepped back and surveyed the sword in his leg, glancing around again to be sure I wouldn't be snuck upon unawares. I couldn't save Edward if I couldn't get myself out of here, that much I knew.

I cringed as I wrapped my hand around the pommel of the sword, gripping tightly. There was risk in this; if the blade had pierced an artery, it might be the only thing keeping Top from bleeding to death. Pulling the blade out might kill him. I'd seen it before, men with stab wounds from knives or swords or bayonets removed the offending blade, sometimes themselves, sometimes asking a fellow soldier to do so in their aid. Once the blade came out, however, gouts of blood would follow, draining the man of life where he stood, sometimes in seconds.

But this sword was pinning Top to the ground; I had to take that chance. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes, muttering a silent prayer to the heavens, and pulled. The blade slid effortlessly from the ground and out of his flesh.

I forced my eyes open and looked to the ground beneath Edward's leg, already envisioning blood pulsing into the already wet earth. But no great rush came, and I sagged with relief. I tossed the sword away and bent again. It would have been a useful instrument if I'd had the ability to wield it, but I knew carrying Top to shelter and safety would be difficult enough. I'd have no way to use the sword to any effect.

Suddenly inspiration struck me in the form of the Yank I'd just rendered unconscious and the officer I'd cast aside. I spun toward the Yankee officer's corpse, rolling him from his side to his back. His sidearm was still strapped to his belt, but I dared not rejoice until I ripped it from its holster and opened the cylinder. Four of the six slots held bullets. I allowed myself the tiniest grimace of a smile as I turned back to Top, shoving the pistol into the side of my belt carefully. I had a holster of my own, but it held my now-empty pistol, and I wasn't about to relinquish that weapon.

The officer's sidearm might come in handy in my attempt to get Top back across the field, but a man's weapon is his own. My own was tried and tested; I knew its nuances and its aim. Nevertheless, I'd take this one in a pinch, the officer wouldn't be needing it, but Top and I might.

I crouched and tried to lift Top as gently as I could, pulling him upright by the arm and then standing, yanking him to as close to standing as I could. I struggled, nearly dropping him several times before I finally managed to wedge my shoulder under his chest and pitched him up and over my shoulder where he hung like a weight.

I grunted as I hoisted us both over the wall, nearly losing my footing on the body of a headless soldier that had been in the direct line of fire of the cannon nearest our position.

I righted us just before Top's weight dragged me to the ground and swore loudly.

Then I began to walk. Every step felt like a hundred, every breath like I was trying to breath with my head stuck in a bucket of water. My cousin wasn't large, despite his lanky frame, but the air was filled with smoke and gun powder, and the ground was covered with bodies and parts of bodies, making the terrain uneven.

"So help me Top, you will not die here," I muttered through labored breaths at the limp form slung over my shoulder. "I will not go back to your mother and tell her I let you die here. I will not go back to that damn farm and tell that girl that already cares about you – and she does, Top, mark my words – that I didn't keep you safe. You _will_ come out of this mess if I have to drag you back myself!"

I continued to stumble across the field toward the trees that had sheltered us not three hours past, all the while keeping up the litany directed at my cousin's unhearing form.

He would not die here. I wouldn't allow it. I couldn't fail him that way.

Several times I stumbled, and twice I fell, tumbling head over heels into a heap with Top. Each time I feared I'd done him more harm, but what else could I do? If I'd left him where he fell, he'd likely be tended by the enemy, but only so he could be sent to a Union prison camp. If the wounds didn't kill him, that likely would. His best chance was with me, but just now, that chance seemed slim too.

Each time I fell, I struggled to pull Top's body back over my shoulders and trudged on. The march across the field on the attack had seemed so long at the time, marching into cannon and rifle and musket fire. But that had been nothing compared to the effort I exerted now.

Men ran by me here and there, running in terror for their lives. _Keep on running,_ I thought as they passed. _Keep running until you get home and don't stop. There's nothing for us here, not anymore._

Others looked silently at me from under the weight of their own brothers or cousins or friends. We wordlessly passed one another with nods, maybe extending a word of encouragement to the fallen or a quiet thanks to one who spoke. But our burdens were our own, and so we trudged on.

I collapsed to my knees when I finally reached the first line of trees. Screams and cries of the wounded echoed loudly in my ears now, bloodied men limping or crawling back behind our lines. The front line hospital tents were nearby, and I could hear men howling, their cries sometimes cutting off abruptly, signaling that they'd succumbed to the pain and lost consciousness.

I shuddered, thinking of what was happening in those tents, of what was happening in the barns behind the lines that we'd appropriated for medical headquarters. Men's bodies would be lined up shoulder to shoulder on the floor, moaning and crying, their wounds bleeding. The air was likely stuffy and full of flies, especially in the July heat. Insects would buzz around open wounds, encouraging the infections that were already taking root in arms or legs or torsos, silent killers of those who thought they were fortunate to take a non-fatal wound.

Toward the back of the tent or the building, surgeons with dirty saws would be removing limbs too mangled to save, the victims biting down on a bullet or a piece of rawhide with no more to numb the pain than maybe a swallow of brandy or whiskey. Or, if he was very lucky, a handkerchief, filthy with blood and dirt from the prior inhabitants of the surgeon's table, coated in chloroform. But chloroform was scarce and precious, and the wounded were countless. Most had to settle for a pull from a bottle or nothing at all.

Blood flowed to the lowest ends of the hospitals and pooled, the surgeons and nurses and orderlies sloshing through it as they worked on their patients. And the worst of all was what appeared behind the hospital tents and buildings. An almost-constant stream of orderlies carried amputated body parts out of the structures to heap them behind, creating piles of severed limbs.

I looked at my cousin's still-unconscious body where I'd laid him out when I fell. I couldn't take him in there. I felt panic rise in my chest. Surely they would take his leg; the wound had continued to bleed as I hauled him across the field, staining my coat as it bounced off my chest. What kind of life would that be for him, barely 20, his whole life ahead of him, and at best, he would lose his leg and survive the operation. At worst, with infection…I shuddered again. No. I hadn't failed him until now. But what choice was there?

Perhaps if I could get him away from the front lines. Or maybe he would awaken. I felt helpless. I wished Jasper were here. He was always so calm, so certain. The three of us had watched out for one another for so long, how was I to decide alone?

Exhaustion and panic threatened to overtake me, and I blinked back a tear, feeling for all the world like a little boy who'd wandered too far into the woods and couldn't remember how to get home as dark set in.

_Dammit Em! _I thought to myself scrubbing furiously at the tear that had escaped down my cheek. _You cannot let him die. You cannot go back home and tell his mother you carried him out just to let him die behind his own lines. You cannot tell Jasper that you couldn't keep Top safe alone, that you weren't enough to protect him. And you _cannot_ go back to that farm and tell that beautiful, sad girl that the first hope she's seen in months is dashed, gone the way of her dead husband. You can't let her believe that everyone she'll ever love will die before their time, or you might as well kill her too._

"I've no idea what you just said, soldier," a voice startled me from my thoughts, thoughts I'd apparently been muttering aloud. "But it seems to me you'd best worry less about your girl and her dead husband, and more about that boy at your feet."

I looked up, indignation alight on my tongue at the implication that I'd been thinking of Bella in that way when in truth, all I could think of was my terror at telling Bella that I'd failed to keep Edward safe.

The man, no, boy in front of me was tall but thin, dressed in loose-fitting trousers and shirt. He carried a pistol clutched in one hand. His face was shadowed, covered by a battered gray slouch hat. He kept his head down, but he seemed to be darting his gaze about nervously. In his other hand he held the reins to a reddish-colored horse that whickered and whinnied, prancing with as much nerve as its holder. Where had such a shoddy looking youth gotten a horse?

"Move on, boy," I said, anger in my voice. "I've got this well in hand."

"Yes, you great ox," the boy hissed at me, and my eyes widened in surprise as light finally hit the face hidden beneath the hat. I gaped, unable to speak as the stranger continued. "I can _see_ just how _in hand_ you have this. Now if you'll quit your bellowing and put Edward up on this horse, maybe, _just maybe_, I can save his life."

I began to nod, then stopped when I finally found my voice to ask, "How…how did you know?" I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing, of _who_ I was seeing. "Rosalie? How did you know how to find us? How did you know to come?" I asked again. " How did you _get here_?"

My head spun.

Of course, Rosalie ignored all of my questions and continued on her tirade.

"Put him on the horse, man! Do you think you can do that, Emmett? Or do I have to take this belt off and strap some sense into you before you'll listen?"

That last shook me from my stare; I might have laughed if I wasn't already stooping to lift Top.

"Thank you Rosalie, but no. I think I can manage without the strapping. But if you'd be so kind as to tell me just how you plan to save Edward's life, I'd be much-obliged."

I couldn't explain it, but the mysterious appearance of this fiery woman, beautiful even dressed in a boy's clothes, her hair covered by the hat, face coated in smoke and sweat, somehow eased my fears despite having no idea how she planned to do what I knew the battlefield doctors could not, much less how she planned to get Top out of camp unnoticed.

Rosalie rewarded my questions with a snort as she mounted the horse behind Top's body, which I'd slung across the front of the saddle.

"You've done such a fine job of watching out for him so far Sergeant, how much worse could I do?" Her voice softened then, likely in response to the chagrin that must have painted my face.

Had I really failed Top so badly?

"Emmett," I struggled to lift my eyes to meet hers. "I can't explain to you right now how I knew. We haven't the time." She gestured to Edward. "_He_ hasn't the time. You know where to find us. We'll care for him, Emmett, I swear it. I have a plan. If you can get free, come back to the farm, and you'll see. You did well by him, carrying him all that way." She looked out across the field at the chaos and grimaced. "Let me help you Emmett."

Even her eyes were gentle at that last, and my heart clenched. She was right. What's more, she would get Top back to Jasper, and for some reason, I trusted that he would be cared for.

I held her eyes for one more minute, imploring her silently to do what I could not. I would find a way to get back there, but for now, this was Edward's best hope. She nodded wordlessly in understanding and gathered her reins at the same time I slapped the horse on the rump. I watched them ride away, fear warring with hope in my heart as I mouthed a silent prayer that whatever plan she had would somehow save us all.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Thank you all for reading as always. You continue to humble me with your thoughtful reviews. The Long Walk Home has also been nominated for an Indie Award, and I cannot begin to offer enough thanks to those of you that nominated it.

Finally, thanks to **averysubtlegift** for her beta magic, especially over a holiday weekend.

All things Twilight and the characters therein belong to Stephenie Meyer, no copyright infringement intended. The battle at Gettysburg and the events of July 3, 1863 belong to the ages.

* * *

**Rosalie**

I looked back over my shoulder just one time at the broad-shouldered man in gray standing alone where I'd left him, and tears pricked my eyes for one brief moment. Emmett's face was creased with pain and worry and exhaustion. I'd been wandering through the Confederate lines for hours looking for them, looking for any sign that Edward lived for Bella's sake. And looking for any sign that _Emmett _lived for…well. Never mind that.

For hour upon heartbreaking hour I'd ridden through the devastation. Two years of scouring dispatches from battles and even pouring over casualty lists with Bella and Alice in hopes of news of Jacob never prepared me for this. Everywhere I looked, men limped or crawled back into the safety of the lines, soot and blood smearing their haggard faces, limbs hanging awkwardly where a wound was already taking its toll. Some dragged fallen brethren, carrying them over their shoulders as Emmett had Edward, or in some cases dragging the wounded behind on makeshift litters or even just along the ground. For these last there was little hope. Their wounds filled with dirt as they scraped along the ground, and infection would set in as earth and the insects that inhabited it winnowed their way into open flesh. If their bodies survived the wounds and the hardships of being dragged so far, the infection would do them in for certain.

I muttered silent prayers for them all as I passed; for so many boys that would never live to be men, so many men that would never see their wives again, never see their children become men and women and have children of their own.

I'd all but given up on finding them when I led Victoria through a small grove of trees and laid eyes upon the sergeant in gray bent over the limp body of his copper-haired cousin. It was just as Alice had said it would be, and my breath caught even as I pulled my hat down lower over my face and approached them. At least now, though, I knew which one had suffered the fate Alice had dreamed.

"_Rosalie. _Rose! _You have to wake up. You have to go. Now!" _

_Alice's insistent whispering voice wormed its way through the fog of my dreams, and I sat up and rubbed my eyes, squinting a little to see her in the early light of dawn. _

"_What is it Alice? What's happened?" I whispered at her hoarsely. My skin pricked and the blood coursed more rapidly through my veins as I realized the hour. We rose with the sun; if Alice had reason to wake me before sun-up, it was important. And very likely ominous._

_My sister's face was paler than normal, eyes wide with panic. Something happened to Bella, I thought, or maybe Jasper had left? No, that didn't seem right. Bella was sound asleep, curled into a ball at the edge of the big bed we three had shared since Bella's nightmares of Jacob made it impossible for her to sleep alone without fear. A thousand thoughts ran through my head, and I dismissed each almost as quickly as it entered my mind. Had something happened to Mother? To Bella's father? Were those foul Union soldiers back to exact revenge for the trouble I'd caused them? I shivered._

"_Something's happened to them, Rosalie. Or something's going to. I've been dreaming of battles for days, ever since we started seeing soldiers near the farm. But this was different. I saw Emmett and Edward this time, or at least I think it was them. One of them was bleeding. The other was carrying the wounded one across a big open field, but he kept falling. I don't know which one was hurt, I could only see the back of the walking man and the wounded one was slung over his shoulders and it was so smoky and hazy. When they finally reached the end of the field, the unwounded one finally gave in to the weight of the other and the last I saw was one of them kneeling before the other one's body. It was so smoky, Rose, I couldn't…" Alice sobbed a little as she spoke and I realized this dream had really scared her. "There was blood everywhere. I don't know whose it was, and I don't know where it was coming from, but there was just so much blood!"_

_She sat there on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into my arm, breathing rapidly. Her eyes, which had been wild in the telling of her tale, began to focus, then almost droop. Alice's dreams were like premonitions and I knew from many years of seeing them happen that sometimes their effect on her was exhausting. I'd been skeptical of her as a child when she'd proclaim that she'd dreamt something after we watched it happen, but as we grew up, she would sometimes have dreams that turned out to be true. Sometimes it would be something as trivial as a broken dish; sometimes she'd see the arrival of an unexpected visitor. _

_Once she'd dreamed of a cousin of ours, the son of my uncle's wife whose first husband had run off to California when gold was found, never to be heard from again. We'd met Garrett only once, but three days after Alice's dream, Garrett sent a post to mother saying he would be traveling from Pittsburgh to Baltimore, and asking could he come by way of Chambersburg for a visit, as he'd had word of our father's death and wished to pay his respects._

_She'd dreamed of Jasper too, it seemed, although she hadn't known who he was. She'd said his face haunted her dreams for weeks before the three young men from Virginia found their way into our lives. _

_So I knew better than to question her terror or the truth behind what she'd told me as she sat there panting. _

_Who had been hurt? And how badly?_

My heart had clenched at the thought of Emmett wounded. Where had that come from? I blushed even as I fretted; it seemed the big jovial sergeant had made a bit of an impression. I felt a kinship with him, each of us serving as unwitting protector of our makeshift families.

The devotion these three had to one another was astounding; I'd seen it over and over the day they came into our lives, and even more than that in the last two days as Jasper fit himself into our home.

It had been shockingly…simple. He was no burden; in fact, as much as it pained me to admit it, it was useful to have a man around. I was proud at how we'd made do since Jacob left. Bella, Alice and I kept a decent house. But the farm had suffered. Bella had wisely allowed the farmer down the lane to plant and harvest on the land in Charlie's and Jacob's absences. Mr. Forge was a nice man; his two elder sons had joined up with Jacob, but he had two more that were younger that remained behind, and they still helped him plant and harvest the fields. When the boys weren't too busy, they'd come help us out with the chores outside, but Jasper'd been a tremendous addition to the house in just a few short days.

He'd been quiet that first day after Edward and Emmett left. They were, as I understood it, his family, even if not by blood. That bond was one I understood well every time I saw Bella. She was my sister, even if we weren't bound by blood, and I loved her as I loved Alice. That there were others who cared for one another as deeply as we three gave me hope in the face of all indications to the contrary in the climate in which we all lived. The land was torn apart, brothers fought brothers, friends killed friends. And yet these three had banded together in another place to create their own family, much the same way Alice, Bella and I had.

I could deny my sentimentality all I wished, but I was moved by their devotion; the stories of men and women just like us living south of the Mason-Dixon Line were the real reason to pray this war would come to an end one day. I didn't believe in slavery, nor did I believe the states had the right to dictate their own laws outside of what came from Washington. But as I picked my way through the emptiest groups of trees I could find astride Victoria, Edward's limp figure hanging over her back in front of me, I prayed to the heavens harder than I ever had before that this horror might end soon, no matter which emerged the victor. I could scarcely believe a young man lived on either side without a hole in him somewhere, if not from a bullet or a saber, then from the pain of watching so many around him fall.

Emmett bore such a hole. He wore it as plain as if a cannon ball had run right through him. It wrenched at my heart, as had the pain in his eyes when I'd callously implied he wasn't caring for his fallen cousin. It had sickened me to say it; in truth I was ashamed of myself, but I'd not seen any other way to shake him into action, and every moment Edward went without proper care was one more moment his life slipped away.

Alice had made that plain.

_I sighed._

"_What do you expect me to do, Alice?" I whispered, looking pointedly at Bella's still-sleeping form at the far end of the bed. Even with Jasper sleeping out in the barn, Alice and Bella were still spooked by what had happened with the Union soldiers a fortnight ago. _

_I couldn't fault them for that, but truth be told I felt there wasn't much Jasper and I couldn't handle between us. He'd brought comfort to Bella and joy to Alice, but he'd also brought a bit of relief to me, and I was grateful. Alice and Bella were no burden, but the fear I carried for their safety was a heavy load. I fretted each time I left to ride out for news or to ask Mr. Forge or Doc or Mrs. Cullen for something we didn't have lying about. If the Yanks came back while I was gone, who knows what they might do. _

"_You have to go, Rosalie. You have to find them." _

_I eyed Alice incredulously. _

"_Alice, there are tens of thousands of men out there. The entire Army of Northern Virginia is out there, and you just expect me to ride in there and pick Edward and Emmett out and whisk them away?" I nearly scoffed at her through my whispers. It sounded all the more impossible when said aloud._

_My sister glared at me. The terror in her eyes mixed with something akin to fury, and her whispers grew so forceful she nearly spat out her next words._

"_That could be Edward out there, hurt and bleeding. We've only just gotten Bella back, Rosalie. You know as well as I we almost lost her when Jacob went missing, may he rest in peace." She muttered that last almost under her breath. "Do you want to be the one to tell her about another man? Do you want to be there when I tell her I had this dream?"_

_I shook my head, already knowing I'd do what Alice asked and go searching, even if I never found them. I always said when Alice settled on a thing, there was no talking her out of it. I looked at Bella, who somehow was still sleeping through our exchange. It was as though the weeks of restless sleep and fitful dreams had been erased by just a few hours with Edward. We hadn't spoken of his departure, I knew Bella was still at odds with herself for telling him to leave and not come back. She'd spent a good deal of time in the yard with Jasper, finding ways to help him with whatever work he was doing. I suspected that had a great deal to do with Edward, but I was reluctant to press her. _

" _And imagine what this will do to Jasper!" Alice's raspy whisper brought me back to the darkness of our room. "If you don't go, he will Rose. You mark my words, he will. And lest you forget, he's a _deserter _now! They'll kill him if he goes back, just as sure as if he'd gone into battle with Emmett and Edward. Worse even, because they'll just shoot him where he stands and be done with it." _

_She shuddered, and I put a comforting arm on her shoulder and sighed. _

"_Alright," I said, and Alice sagged. "But I don't know where to find them, Alice. What if I can't? What if it's too late?"_

"_Please try Rosalie," she said quietly, her whisper so soft now it was barely a breath. "For us, for them, for her." She looked to Bella, then back at me. "Please try?"_

She had been right. She was always right. I looked down at Edward again, slung in front of me still bleeding, and I nudged Victoria forward. I had to get him clear of the clumps of soldiers I was riding by and try to have a look at his wound. It wouldn't be easy; I couldn't lift him, so I couldn't pull him down from the horse, and I wasn't sure how I'd dress his wounds while he hung over the saddle.

I'd had no formal medical training, although I'd dreamed of going off to learn to become a nurse since I was a little girl. Before Mama left for Washington with Mr. Swan and Mr. Black, I even had dreams of someday going to Philadelphia to the new Female Medical College of Pennsylvania, and I was devastated when it closed down at the start of the war. It recently reopened, however, and I still held out hope that one day I might attend. Nursing and doctoring were, to my mind, perhaps the noblest of professions. I held fewer men in higher esteem than Doc Cullen, whose unfailing ministrations had saved many of Chambersburg's residents from infection or death. He was quick with a salve or an ointment to sooth, and unflinching in the face of even the most ghastly of wounds, of which he saw many from accidents resulting from the slip of a saw or the kick of an animal.

I'd taken a patient or two to Doc Cullen, one of Mr. Forge's sons split his leg with a hatchet, another had his toes stepped on by a plow horse. When I showed interest, Doc Cullen was kind enough to let me help out a little, and I learned a good bit about poultices and bandaging and even setting broken bones. I was a quick study, he said, and a great help, and his praise brought me a sense of pride I never felt doing anything else.

I continued to pick my way through denser patches of trees, careful not to jostle Edward any more than necessary as we traveled. I kept the brim of my hat pulled low over my face, careful that my hair didn't escape from beneath it. I hunched my shoulders, trying without much effort to look weary and defeated in the hopes the men around us would see nothing more than a boy on a horse with his wounded friend. Only once did a pair of particularly scruffy looking soldiers eye us with interest, but I urged Victoria into a trot and left them behind quickly, cringing as Edward's limp body bounced in front of me.

Finally after what was surely almost an hour, I felt safe enough to stop in a particularly dense area of brush and try to examine Edward's wounds.

A dark, sticky spot on the back of his head, redder than the copper of his hair, made it clear that he'd struck it on something. There was little I could do for him there, besides try to see how deep the gash was. I wasn't carrying anything to properly dress a wound other than some strips of fabric for bandages, but the least I could do was see how bad he was. I wished he'd come 'round so he could at least drink some water, but that seemed unlikely, although I held out hope.

I kept a hold on Victoria's reins rather than tying her up in case we were discovered and I had to remount quickly. It was the wound on his leg that worried me. My mind wandered to images of old men that had fought in the War of Independence that I'd seen as a child, propped up on a crutch with a trouser leg pinned above the place where a knee should be or the sleeve of a coat tied off below the shoulder. Tears threatened to prick in my eyes as I thought of Edward that way. He was so young, his whole life before him. Maybe even a life with Bella, but could a man farm without a leg?

I sniffed once and shook my head to clear it. I couldn't worry about the future, he hadn't come to yet. I took a deep breath and set about inspecting his leg. I stood almost exactly at eye level with the large, dark red stain on Edward's britches, and I cringed a bit as I gingerly fingered the frayed edges of the threads around the hole in the fabric.

I knit my eyebrows quizzically for a moment, examining the wound. I hadn't thought to ask Emmett what happened, my sole focus was to get Edward away from the front. This wasn't a bullet wound, it was too clean, too straight. The tell-tale gun powder residue was missing; there was no black stain on any of the fabric, nor, that I could see, on the skin around the wound. Blood would have mingled with it, but not washed it away.

This wound had been made by a saber. That was good, from what Doc Cullen had taught me. The sharper and cleaner the implement that caused the wound, the better the chance he had to treat it fully. I poured a small amount of water over one of the cloths and touched it carefully to the wound to wipe away some of the dried blood. The wound was still oozing fresh blood, and I feared for the blood loss, but there was little I could do short of tying a tourniquet around the leg to staunch the flow.

Doc Cullen warned me against the use of tourniquets though, saying that they were useful to stop bad bleeding, but if left on too long, could lead to death of the limb if it didn't get enough blood. I considered the amount of blood coming from Edward's wound and hesitated. It would take me several hours to get him back to Doc Cullen's house. If I cut off blood flow to his leg for that long, it would likely have to be amputated. But if I didn't, would he lose too much? Could he die?

I felt my own breath coming faster and closed my eyes to steady myself. I was no doctor, I shouldn't have to make these decisions. But at this moment, I was all he had. I saw Bella's face in my mind, saw the light in her eyes when she'd been standing in the kitchen with Edward before we knew the horrible truth about Jacob's death. That light had been missing for months, and this boy had brought it back in just a few moments.

I pressed a cloth against the wound on either side of his leg and wrapped a third around his thigh to hold them there. The knot I tied was tight, but not tight enough to completely stem the flow of blood.

"You _will_ live, damn you," I muttered at Edward as I worked. "I'll not have you die just because I tried to save your leg, you hear?"

"Bella. Bella?" I froze as I heard his weak voice. It couldn't be. This was too good to be true.

"Edward?" I asked, not believing my ears.

"W-Who's there? Rosalie? How…? Where are we? Where is Bella? She was just here and we…" He stopped short, clearly realizing he had been dreaming. "Oh God, Emmett! Where is Emmett?"

Edward began to flail and I flew into motion, rushing around the front of the horse and taking his face in my hands to steady him.

"Edward, you've been hurt. You were knocked unconscious on the field, do you remember?" He slowly nodded his head, and I saw recognition start to return to his fuzzy eyes.

"Water?" He croaked, and I nodded.

"Let's try to get you down, Edward; do you think you can stand if I help you?"

He nodded again, and I returned to Victoria's other side and placed my hands at his waist, pulling a bit to encourage him to slide down. I tried to take as much of his weight as I could, but he still nearly fell to the ground when his feet touched.

"Be careful," I warned, gesturing to his leg. "You shouldn't stand on that, I'm afraid it'll start to bleed again."

Edward looked down at the blood on his trousers and he sucked in his breath. "The officer, " he said. "His sword must have caught in my leg as he fell. Em shot him and he fell and I tripped and…" He trailed off again and I handed him the water. He drank slowly, finishing most of what I'd brought.

"We have to get you to a doctor, Edward." I said. "I'm sorry, I know you'd probably like to rest, but we're too close to the field, and if anyone sees you they might think you a deserter. And you've got to have the leg looked at properly. Emmett didn't drag you all the way across that field just for some hack surgeon to tell you to bite on a bullet while he cut it off and threw it in a pile."

He cringed at my crudeness, but I'd seen plenty of battlefield medicine in the short time I'd ridden around the lines in search of Emmett and Edward.

"He's well, Edward. Emmett's unharmed, and he saved you. But if you want to save your leg, we have to go."

Edward nodded again and I moved to support his weight, propping his arm over my shoulders.

"I think it would be best if you rode standing up," I said, eyeing the blood in his hair.

"That blow to the head looks as though it was quite nasty, and I'd rather you didn't hit it against the horse any longer. We can ride faster that way too."

He nodded, eyeing the stirrup with concern. In truth, it took no small amount of shoving from me and grunting and pulling from Edward, but eventually somehow he was perched in the saddle, looking no worse for the wear. I pulled myself up behind him and nudged Victoria into a brisk walk.

We rode in silence for a time. I could only imagine the thoughts swirling in Edward's mind, and I was certain he'd speak when he was ready.

Finally, he broke the quiet, saying, "Rose, does Bella-?"

I cut him off. "She doesn't know I'm here, Edward. Rather, she didn't know I was coming when I left the farm this morning. Neither did Jasper."

He tried to twist around to look at me, but the pressure he put on his leg caused him to flinch, and I placed a hand on his back to steady him, righting him to a forward-facing position.

"Alice had one of her dreams," I said frankly. There was no sense in mincing words, he was here, and Alice was the reason. "She woke me before sun-up, certain some tragic fate was set to befall one of you. She wouldn't let me alone until I agreed to come looking for you. It was a fool's errand, but by some miracle, I found you. I imagine she's told Bella and Jasper by now."

Edward took in my words without speaking, seeming to consider them. He was silent again for an even longer moment than before.

"Rosalie?" His voice was strained and weak.

"Yes, Edward?"

"Thank you for coming for me. You saved my life, like as not, and I'll never be able to repay that debt."

I thought for a moment, considering his words. Then I thought again of Bella, and the light in her eyes.

"Somehow Edward, I think you'll find a way."

We rode the rest of the way back to Doc Cullen's house in silence.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **My thanks as always to **averysubtlegift** for cleaning up my messes; this story wouldn't be the same without her.

Thanks to all of you who are still reading, who have alerted, reviewed, or recommended my little story. It wouldn't be the same without all of you either. There is an outtake posted on my profile that gives a fluffy glimpse into Edward's head while he was unconscious as well for anyone that's interested.

As always, all things Twilight and the characters therein belong to Stephenie Meyer, no copyright infringement intended. The war-related anecdotes included below and in chapters past, the battle at Gettysburg and the events of July 3, 1863 belong to the ages.

* * *

**Jasper**

Being roused from sleep by the sound of clattering hoof beats on hard-packed dirt would make any man start. That same sound when a man has deserted his army and duty in enemy territory and finds himself hiding out in the barn of a girl he met not three days gone will send him into fits.

So when I heard the unmistakable sound of a trot outside the barn on the Swan farm, my heart leapt into my chest and my mouth went dry. They'd come for me, I was sure of it. Images of Emmett and Edward confessing my desertion under threat of court martial flew through my mind as I half-crawled, half-stumbled out of my bedroll. I'd be dragged back to the lines, and if I was lucky, tried before I was executed. I'd seen men summarily shot with naught but a glance from their superior officers for desertion.

Times were hard for a Confederate officer these days. When the war didn't end in six weeks like everyone predicted, nor in six months, nor in sixteen months, those of us that saw reason knew the South was in a pickle. We had aplomb, that was certain. We had heart and fire and The Cause. We had the rage of men whose homes had been invaded, the sadness of men whose farms had burned and whose wives had fled in droves to the cities for refuge. We had superior leaders, better tactics, and, one might argue, wilier and tougher troops. We even had the Rebel Yell, a sound that so terrified our enemies that it's said some Yanks froze dead in their tracks when they heard it sounded, even as men in gray swarmed toward them.

What we did not have, however, were men to spare. The Union was home to many and vast cities like New York and Philadelphia, the likes of which many southern men had never seen and never would. We had Atlanta and Richmond, but those held nary a candle to the might of the industrial cities up north.

And because we had fewer men, our officers held a sight less patience for deserters. If your commander was a compassionate man, he might order you to the front of the line in every battle you fought in after you were brought back from desertion. But like as not, the number of battles you'd see would be nearer to one; the front of any line rarely made it through in one piece.

A less compassionate officer had you flogged. Your wounds would be minimally tended, for doctors were few and needed to tend to loyal men wounded in battle. Infection might get you, and if it didn't, your recovery from those lashes would be long and painful, and likely prolonged by the constant marching, the chafing of your garments against the open gashes in your flesh, and the cold, hard ground you called your bed.

But those men condemned to walk into the face of the enemy or bear the lash of the whip were counted among the most fortunate of deserters. More likely a man would be shot, or if munitions were scarce enough, hanged.

I put my hand to my throat without thinking about it. There was little I feared more than the noose; a hanged man might not die right away, and there was no mercy in that death. I'd seen men hanged whose necks hadn't snapped as the platform was kicked away. Their eyes bulged as their faces turned red, then purple, then blue. They gaped with open mouths, gasping for any breath they could suck down, and they kicked and thrashed, hoping to find purchase with a foot to ease the strain even as they scrabbled with clawed fingers to loosen the ropes cutting off their air.

It always ended the same though, after what seemed an agonizingly long time. The thrashing would subside, arms falling limp, eyes rolling back. They lost control over their faculties too, and stains blossomed on the front of their trousers at the same time the stench of loosed bowels filled the air.

No, I did not wish to suffer that fate. Better to die at my own hand, were I brave enough.

The scenes of deserters I'd known flashed through my mind in the seconds it took me to scramble across the floor of the hayloft toward the window. Keeping my body in a crouch, I lifted my head just high enough to peer over the sill. If those were Rebs down there coming to take me back, I'd run first, then I'd fight. I wouldn't endanger Alice or Bella or Rosalie by putting up any kind of fuss in their presence.

It was with much trepidation that I finally raised my eyes high enough to look down to the yard, searching for what I thought must be my soon-to-be executioners while desperately seeking my escape route. And so when the only movement I saw was Rosalie, galloping out of the yard astride the mare, flaxen hair streaming behind her, I was so overcome with relief that my joints gave way and I had to catch myself against the wall of the barn so as not to fall face-first into the pallet of straw below me.

I was safe.

_No_, I admonished myself even before the echoes of the thought in my head could subside. _No, Jasper, you are not safe. You are the farthest thing from safe, and as long as you're here, those girls aren't safe either._ I turned so I was sitting against the wall, my elbows resting on my bent knees, and ran a hand through my hair as I considered my predicament.

I meant what I'd said to Edward and Emmett when I refused to leave with them. Someone somewhere should be fighting to protect those still on the home front. Not just Bella, whose heart had been mended and broken more times in a few short months than I could imagine in a lifetime. Not only for Rosalie, who, honestly, was more of a soldier than many men I'd met, and more of a warrior than the best and bravest of men with whom I'd fought, but who deserved to have someone watching out for her too. And not even just for Alice, wise, lovely, enchanting Alice, who held the strings to my heart as sure as I breathed, even if I'd only just met her days before.

Someone should be protecting those that were left behind. I thought of Edward's mother and father, kindly folks who couldn't bring harm to anyone by choice, and whose lives had been built around shaping and helping children become the kind of people they could be proud of.

I thought of my Aunt Maria. She was a tough old bird, but it shamed me to admit I was glad she'd gone to her rest before this mess started. Today we fought in Pennsylvania, but this war had taken more than its toll on Virginia, and I feared that if Maria still lived, she'd have ended up in a whole mess of trouble for threatening some Yankee with her cane as he marched through town.

But in my impassioned pleas for Edward and Em to see why I thought I had to stay here, I'd neglected to consider the danger I presented as a deserter. I didn't think of the added burden I'd be on these girls. I could help out, sure. I'd been more than a little useful with outside chores in just a few short days, even Rosalie had been pleased to have the pasture fence mended, and when a stack of wood for the stove had appeared before she rose yesterday morning, she'd like to have split her face with her grin. Seems cutting wood isn't anyone's favorite chore at that Swan house.

But I had to eat, and there certainly wasn't any extra food. I had no money. And even if I had, Confederate scrip was worthless here. It was damn near worthless in the Confederacy too, but at least there folks still traded in it.

No, I hadn't thought this through. And as I sat there letting my terror drain out of my body, I was overcome with sadness. I had to go, and it was killing me.

I felt a tie to Alice I'd never felt to anyone or anything in all my years. For as long as I could remember, right back to that terrible day when my mama ran from the kitchen to Papa in that burning barn, I felt like I didn't belong, at least not completely. The Masens were the kindest folks I'd ever known, and their home was my home, but there was always a feeling that I was supposed to find something else, to find my own place in the world. There was an itch I didn't know how to scratch, a voice so far in the back of my head I couldn't find it to quiet it.

Right up until I crawled over the edge of the loft and saw Alice. Right up until she took my hand with all the authority and confidence of the bravest man alive. Right up until she told me she'd been waiting for me and pulled me into her kitchen and into her life.

The last two days had been a mystery. Mixed in with the chores and trying to learn what I could about these three, there were the hours I'd spent with Alice. We shelled peas in the most comfortable silence I'd ever experienced. I helped her pull laundry from the line after I restrung it, because I'd made it too tight and the pins were too high for her to reach. Funny to think of that, for though she was small, not much taller than a child, her very presence so captivated me that I forgot her diminutive stature.

Alice was the itch I hadn't known how to scratch. The voice I couldn't silence was hers, beckoning me to her. How could I leave?

And yet how could I stay?

I sat for a few more moments, considering my options. I could sneak back into the lines; it was likely I'd go unnoticed, and could claim to have been elsewhere if someone questioned my whereabouts during the battle. But if I was discovered, I'd risk not only my own life, but Edward's and Emmett's as well, and I was unwilling to do so.

I had but one option: make my way west, far enough so as not to attract the attentions of wondering eyes. There were territories out west that weren't even states yet, and no one there would care one way or the other if I'd fought in a war they had no ties to that was taking place half a land away.

I let my thoughts drift for a bit, considering. I thought again of Alice, of Bella, of Rosalie. I thought of Edward's agony, and how I prayed he would pull through this battle to reunite with Bella. Alice thought Bella would eventually find a place in her heart for him, and I was inclined to agree. I thought of Emmett, and his strength. He and Rosalie were so alike in their roles, it was uncanny. They took their jobs as caretaker very seriously, but not without good cause. Their charges, as we could easily be called, had been pulled from more than one scrape by their hands.

Suddenly weariness and contemplation gave way to curiosity. Rosalie. Where was she going? Unable to contain my interest, I rose and began to dress, figuring someone else must have been awake and known what had her up and about so early.

Her speed gave me pause, as did the fact that she'd saddled Victoria in the pasture or perhaps the barn just below where I slept, but that she'd done so with such care as to not make a sound that I hadn't heard a thing until she left the gate at the head of the yard.

I crossed the grass between the barn and the house, still musing about where Rosalie'd ridden off to. Surely no one was ill or hurt; she wouldn't have spared my sleep for that. Perhaps there was news of the battle? For two days the distance had thundered with the far-off sounds of artillery fire. Smoke rose over the hilltops, a telltale sign that trees and grass and maybe the town itself burned. I'd tried to ignore it, tried not to think of Emmett and Top, of _my brothers_ in the middle of all that terror without me. Two days was a long spell for an engagement. And when I craned my neck toward the horizon where the fighting was, I could still see pillars of black smoke rising in the thick morning haze.

The scene in the kitchen when I opened the door and walked in was eerily similar to the picture I knew Alice and I had painted when the others had entered two days back, except that the chair I'd occupied was empty. But Alice sat at the table, a plate in front of the chair opposite her, meant for me by the size of the helpings on it, her gaze trained on nothing I could figure.

"Alice?" I asked softly, trying not to startle her.

At the same time I spoke her name, she began to talk, quickly and in hushed tones.

"Something's happening, Jasper. No." She cut me off with a glance, my question dying before it left my lips. "Something's happening out there, to Edward or to Emmett. I know it as sure as I draw breath, though what it is exactly, or to which one, I've no idea." Her eyes shone with unshed tears, the whites marbled with red lines from what I could only guess was restless sleep combined with even more restless fear.

"Rosalie's gone. I sent her to find them. I didn't know what else to do, I just, I woke up and I could see it as clear as I see you now, and Jasper, when I dream, sometimes things happen. Jasper, I'm so sorry! I should have known! I should have stopped them!" Her voice finally broke as she choked out those last words, and though I was stunned, I crossed the small kitchen to kneel at her feet. I took her small, work-worn hand in mine and took a deep breath.

"Alice," I said shakily, still trying to make heads or tails of what I'd just heard. "My lamb, I don't blame you." I started at the term of endearment I'd uttered, one my own mother had used on me when night terrors woke me from my sleep as a little boy. "You couldn't have known, and they're soldiers, of course they're in danger. We were always in danger, my girl. It's the nature of war."

Her eyes darted to mine, unshed tears finally spilling over her cheeks. I hesitated only a moment before rising, pulling Alice up with me and into my arms. She collapsed into my chest and for once she seemed as small as she was as I encircled her tiny frame with my arms. I whispered quiet words of solace, all the while trying to quiet the fear in my own mind. Alice's grip on my back was strong, but she shook and I felt her silent sobs rack her body in waves. Finally her breathing began to even and she turned her face away from my now-tear-soaked shirt. I made to loosen my grasp, thinking she meant to pull away, but her hands tightened where they held my shoulders, and so I squeezed back, feeling a little bit of wonder through my confusion and fear.

This girl, all but a stranger, she needed me as much as I needed her. It was another revelation for me, an orphan who'd been loved by many but truly needed by none until the war, and even then, Edward and Emmett and I needed one another, but our dependence was a product of circumstance. But this was different, and I marveled at it.

"We mustn't tell Bella," she whispered through her efforts to calm her breath. "This will destroy her, Jasper. She's already lost Jacob, and if something's happened to Edward…" She trailed off and I fought the urge to stiffen, to bristle at the idea of some tragedy befalling either of them. But I knew Alice was right. Bella was strong, but she was fragile too. She fought each and every day not to break, and Edward's appearance in her life both strengthened her resolve and pushed her nearer to shattering. It seemed clear she cared for him; when he'd left and she'd chased after him, we'd all seen the kiss they'd shared, and Rosalie, Alice and I had all seen her when she stumbled back to the house, face red and eyes shining, her fingers pressed to her lips half in wonder, half in terror.

The impression they'd had on one another was as magnetic and as iron-clad as the one Alice and I shared. But the situation with Bella's husband complicated things beyond my comprehension, perhaps beyond repair. To make her believe that some ill had befallen Edward while she sorted through all that had happened would be cruel.

And so I sighed, tightening my own grip on Alice for a moment, seeking comfort in her nearness, and then nodded, mumbling my agreement. She lifted her chin, pressing it to my breastbone, and looked up into my eyes.

"You are a good man, Jasper Whitlock," she said. "Just as I knew you would be."

I felt a small smile cross my lips at her words, but had barely enough time to register them before I felt her stretch up on her toes at the same time she snaked her arms out from behind my back to put a hand on either side of my face. She pulled my head down and I instinctively bent to meet her lips with mine in a soft kiss. It felt as though I'd been kissing her my whole life, just as it had yesterday when I asked her shyly if I might kiss her good night after I finished helping her clear the dinner dishes. That had been a chaste kiss, full of promise and wonder, but also of caution. This kiss was different.

Alice's fingers tightened on my cheeks, then slid across my temples and into my hair. She didn't pull, but neither was her grip gentle and I felt a growl of lust building in my belly. I couldn't' say whose lips parted first, whose tongue began exploring the other's first. Were my wits about me, I'd likely have been at once scandalized and fascinated by the urgency with which I kissed her, wrapping my arms about her so tightly that I pulled her feet from the ground so as to bring her even closer. I crushed her to me, feeling her every curve molding against every place on my own body that, until that moment, I had never realized was missing a piece.

We poured every emotion of the past three days into that kiss: our shock at meeting, our wonder at finding one another, our fear that we were wrong, our joy at realizing we were not, and this morning's desperate wishes for outcomes that, for one reason or another, would likely never come to be. Her wish for Bella to have peace, my wish for the safety of my friends, her hopes for our future, my silent pleas for the departure I wished didn't have to be; for those beautiful moments as our lips bound us together, it seemed as though perhaps all our wishes could come true.

But like every rare beautiful moment in a lifetime filled with pain, the sound of footsteps from above startled us from our reverie and we pulled away from one another gasping. I was sure my face was a mirror of Alice's flushed one, and try as I might, I couldn't get control of the ragged pants coming from my lungs.

As Bella entered the kitchen, I cleared my throat and Alice quickly turned away to the stove, busying herself with the appearance of making tea. I mumbled something in response to Bella's cheerful greeting and sat at the table, fixing my gaze and my attention on the plate Alice had put out. Two more plates quickly joined it, and we ate in companionable silence but for the furtive glances Alice and I stole whenever Bella's eyes were on her food.

I was half-crazed with lust and half-stricken with fear for Edward and Emmett, and for Rosalie, who had ridden off to find them. Fool girl, if she was noticed, she'd be in a mess. But then again, I thought, as I chuckled to myself, so would whoever found her and gave her any trouble.

When Bella asked after Rosalie, Alice breezily explained that she'd gone to Doc Cullen's for something or other, something about his needing her help with a man who'd had an accident with a plow. Bella grimaced and asked no more questions, and I muttered a silent prayer at Alice's ability to think quickly. I knew if it'd come to me, I would have stammered and stuttered while searching for a story, all the while raising Bella's suspicions until I broke down and told her the truth.

With breakfast finished, we scattered to do chores. Bella and Alice planned to beat all the rugs in the house today and sweep out the floors, and I planned to replace some planking in the far side of the hayloft, as it looked to be showing the first signs of rot. I was grateful for the separation from the women. I needed to think through how to tell them I would be leaving, not to mention have a private moment to worry on what Alice felt certain was happening to Edward or Emmett.

We'd had injuries before, but none was less frightening than the last. Just because a thing had happened once didn't mean you wanted it to happen again, or that it was any easier the second time. The threat of infection, the poor conditions of battlefield hospitals, the likelihood of getting some other disease that hindered recovery were all very real fears.

Not to mention the chance of amputation if an injury was bad enough, or of course, the possibility of not needing a hospital or doctor at all. I shuddered. I'd seen more death in the past two years than anyone should see in a thousand lifetimes, but I feared its coming for the ones I loved. I'd lost so many people I loved; the few I had left were more precious than I could say.

"Take care of each other, you fools," I muttered as I worked, as though my plea might float on the haze to find their ears.

Before I began, I rolled up my belongings, as was my habit in the army. Should a quick departure be required, I wanted to have what little I owned with me, so I rolled my extra change of clothing and a few odds and ends into my blanket and tied it with a bit of rope I'd come upon along the way. I laid my rifle carefully across the top, taking care not to let the end of the muzzle touch the ground. It was the finest weapon I'd ever owned, and would likely be worth something if I needed money when I began my journey. Then again, it might just save my life at that.

I was about to begin measuring the space I planned to start on when I heard a scream from the direction of the house, a scream that cut off in a gurgle, and a second, shorter yelp that died almost before it began.

I acted before I even thought, flying down the ladder of the hayloft, pausing only long enough to seize my rifle from where it lay and tear wildly through the bedroll I'd just rolled up so neatly to find whatever ammunition I still carried. I felt detached, much as I often did during a battle, and noted as I ran to the barn door how differently I was reacting to whatever danger I was about to face than I had when I thought someone was coming for me.

I skidded to a halt as I reached the door, wanting to get a sense of what I was facing before I charged into the yard. Fighting was different when it was hand-to-hand than it was when it was one-to-many. Tactics were different depending on if your opponent was armed with a gun or a knife, and then if he carried a pistol or a rifle. The more I knew about whoever was out there before I had to engage, the better.

As I slid around the corner of the barn to get a clear view of the house, I suddenly felt as though ice flowed through my veins. A dirty man in a torn blue uniform stood holding Alice around the waist, her back pressed to his chest. Bella stared at them in horror from near the laundry lines where the rugs hung. She still held the stick she'd been using to beat the rug nearest her, but it hung slack between her fingers. I could see the tension in her body, but I spared her only a glance before looking back to Alice. The Yankee held her tightly, but as I crept closer, I could see it wasn't the arm about her waist that held her so still. It wasn't the arm about her waist that had silenced her scream or cut off Bella's cry for help in her throat. It was the Bowie knife he held in the other hand, pressed so tightly to Alice's throat that I felt certain that I'd see a trickle of blood running from beneath the blade.

I could feel rage bubbling in my brain, but over the fury was calm. This was an enemy, an enemy I could defeat with the element of surprise and a little luck.

As I drew closer, my feet making not a sound in the dirt, I saw Bella's eyes flicker toward me, and shook my head at her. I wanted to make myself known first. She tore her eyes from mine and looked back to the Yankee, who seemed preoccupied with whispering into Alice's ear. I winced as I saw her try to struggle against whatever he'd said, and she stilled quickly, no doubt feeling the sting of his blade against her neck.

"Aw, now girly, don't go fighting me," he said more loudly, and I noticed his words slurred. I could use that. "I know your big sister ain't here to save you this time. I saw her ride out this morning, and I've been waiting to get you two pretty young things alone. It's only too bad James couldn't join me." He laughed thickly. "Or maybe it ain't. Twice as nice for me, it seems."

Bella's eyes went wide, and I thought this man must have been one of the soldiers that had paid them a visit a few weeks back. James must have been the one Rosalie knocked unconscious, but it seemed he wasn't along for the outing this time. I remembered Alice saying she'd taken him to town, which likely meant he was locked in the town jail until the Union army could be bothered with him. More good news for me; one man was not necessarily easier to fight, but I didn't have to worry about attacks coming from multiple sides.

I wanted to surprise him, but not to make him jerk the hand that held the knife. I considered my options, liking none of them, but settling on the sound I knew I could make that was most likely to give him pause.

I'd loaded the rifle as I stood at the corner of the barn, and now I raised it to my shoulder casually, adopting a stance we sometimes used in instances not unlike the one in which we'd met Bella's husband. It was intentionally casual, almost exaggeratedly so. I stood in a bit of a slouch, looking as much at ease as I could, holding the rifle near my shoulder, but not cradling it completely in a firing stance. The barrel was still aimed at the Yank's head though, and I felt certain that if I had to, I could make the shot.

Then I took one deep, quiet, steadying breath and placed my thumb on the hammer, whispering a silent prayer that this would work, and slowly, deliberately, so the noise could neither go unnoticed nor be mistaken, I cocked the hammer back, chambering the round.

I saw the man tense, but it was Alice's movements I was concentrating on. I looked for any sign that the knife had cut deeper, and when I was satisfied I had seen none, I breathed a small sigh of relief.

The man, Laurent was his name, I remembered, turned slowly, still holding Alice.

"You'll be wanting to let her go now, soldier," I drawled, keeping my voice calm and steady.

"That so?" Laurent slurred, tightening the arm around Alice's waist and bending to drag his tongue along her neck. I fought every urge I had to flinch, to scream, to charge him and held my ground.

"That's so," I said. "'Less of course you want me to put a bullet through your skull to _make_ you let her go." I hefted the rifle a bit to make my point.

"Listen," he said, eyes focused on the barrel of my rifle. "How's about you take that one?" He jerked his head toward Bella, who stood rooted to the ground in the yard. "And I'll keep this pretty little thing."

"Well," I said, still trying to keep my calm, "that'd suit me fine, friend, except for the part about you keeping that one." I pointed at Alice. I'd made a split-second decision to play this like I'd come into the yard to do just what he had, but that I'd been here first. Perhaps a stake to his claim would draw him out away from Alice.

"Now see here." Laurent glared at me. "I can share just fine, friend, but there's no need to be greedy."

I mentally laughed. He was taking my bait.

"I ain't talkin' 'bout sharing, _friend." _I spat the word back at him, deliberately drawling my words now. I saw light dawn in his eyes and the hand against Alice's throat loosened ever so slightly as the recognition struck.

"You're a damn _Reb,_" he said incredulously. "What the hell did you think you'd do, Johnny, come up here and take our women? Ain't your own dirty trash down south good enough for you?"

I bristled but said nothing, just kept the barrel trained on him.

"Now see here, Johnny, I ain't sharing with no Reb. So either you get the hell on out of here, or I'll have to kill you before I have my fun with these two."

And there it was. I'd defeated him before the battle had even begun. Now all I had to do was finish our little dance.

"Well I ain't leaving, Billy," I drawled. On the off-chance he got away, I wanted my exaggerated drawl to be what he remembered. I put on the affectation when it suited; I found it distracted a man from paying attention to other aspects. "So I guess you'll have to kill me." I snorted then.

He glowered, and looked down at Alice for a moment before removing the knife from her throat and shoving her aside. At the same time the relief coursed through me, I felt the fury rise to the surface. He charged at me so fast I didn't have time to take proper aim with the rifle, and when I pulled the trigger, my shot found the shoulder of the arm not holding the knife, but he continued toward me with a scream of pain. I flipped the rifle so that I held the stock like a stick and swung the barrel at him, but he ducked me and lunged with the knife.

I felt a searing pain shoot through my own shoulder and my shout mingled with Alice's and Bella's screams. He fell upon me, knife raised, and I threw my hands up to stop his arm mid-arc. We were well-matched in size and strength, and any advantage I'd gained with my shot was lost when his knife found my flesh.

I brought my knee up to slam into his gut as he leaned over me, and he grunted, losing his footing and rolling to the ground next to me. I sprang up and crashed into him, trying to slam the arm with the knife into the ground and make him lose his grip. We tussled in the dirt, rolling over and over for what seemed like hours. I felt my arm throbbing and knew I was losing blood, but I couldn't relent.

Arms and legs tangled as we rolled, and it was all I could do to keep my eye on the knife. At last I had a clean shot at his face and I took my chance. I reached up and gouged my fingers into his eyes, hoping he would raise his own in protest.

He did.

As he brought his hands up toward his eyes, screaming and blinded, the knife still pointing from one hand, I wrapped my hand around the wrist that held the blade and drove down with all my might.

Laurent's eyes bulged despite the damage I'd done moments before, and his last sound was a gurgle as I sank the knife into his throat to the hilt. He went limp beneath me, and I collapsed to the ground at his side, suddenly aware that I'd lost a great deal of blood from my own wound.

Alice and Bella ran to where I lay, crouching and speaking both at once. One of them tore strips from an apron to wrap around my shoulder, and I felt pulling and pushing around the wound. I thought, almost absently, that there was no way those two women could possibly tie a tourniquet strong enough to truly staunch my bleeding, but as I felt the tugging become more insistent and the fingers in my hand begin to tingle, I thought perhaps I had misjudged their strength. I heard scattered words from each as blackness threatened to overtake me.

"Bleeding…pull harder!...needs a doctor…saved you Alice…do with the body?..."

Then I heard Alice's voice, stronger and a bit louder than I was used to in my ear.

"Jasper. You have to stay with us, Jasper, we can't get you to Doc Cullen's on our own with no horse!"

I tried to focus on her face, her voice, the throbbing pain in my arm, which had strangely diminished a bit. My mind began to clear, and I blinked a few times to focus my gaze.

"There, you're back. Good." Alice smiled down at me, her hair wild and pulled from the pins that held it earlier today. I could see tear tracks through the dirt that smeared both their faces, presumably from scuffling with the Yank, but both wore looks of determination now, and Bella reached down to grasp the shoulder that wasn't injured, trying to pull me up.

I struggled to reach a sitting position, pausing when I did to look to the slack body of Laurent lying in the dirt at my side. A sizable pool of blood framed his head from where I'd plunged the knife into his throat, and I winced.

Even after I left the war, I was still killing men. Would it never end?

Alice spoke, pulling me from my self-loathing.

"We have to get you to the doctor. This wound is deep and needs sewing up. Rose could do it if she was here, but…" She trailed off, and I knew she was trying to avoid any mention of where Rosalie was at this very moment. She shook her head slightly and continued. "If you think you can walk, we can take you to Doc Cullen. He only lives but just down the road, and he'll not ask after how this happened or where you came from, Jasper."

I looked up at her, amazed that she spoke the same words that were flying through my head. How could I go see a doctor here without raising suspicion about how a strange man came to be injured and in need of stitches at the Swan farm?

"He won't, Jasper, she's right." Bella spoke softly, but her voice carried certainty. "Doc Cullen is a friend, and besides, he already knew about…that." She jerked her chin toward the pile of dead Yankee at my side and blanched a little. It was a great deal of blood; I couldn't fault her for her reaction.

Before the war, I'd heard many a man called weak or a sissy if he felt weak at the sight of blood, and truth be known, I'd said it a few times myself. But after what I'd seen on the battlefields across Virginia and Maryland, after the sickness I'd felt in my own guts at some of the grotesque results of the slaughters of men, I'd never think less of a soul for avoiding the sight of bloodshed.

I sighed.

"I'll agree to go see your doctor," I said, "but first, I have to take care of that." Alice and Bella followed my gaze back to the dead man and began to protest. I had to speak loudly to make my voice heard over their din. "We can't very well leave a body lying in the middle of the yard. I'm putting you in enough danger as it is, this is too much. Let me take care of this, then your Doc Cullen can see to my arm. And then I'll go."

I said that last under my breath, thinking to speak so softly that neither of them would hear, but Bella inhaled sharply and looked at me with questioning eyes. I felt myself flush but shook my head ever so slightly, hoping she'd leave off for now. I had to find a way to explain it to Alice, and I certainly wasn't in the right mind to do it now. Bella held my eyes for a moment, then nodded stiffly. She would keep quiet then. She wouldn't be happy about it, but she would let me speak my piece.

I looked about for a moment, considering my options for the Yankee. Digging was out given the extent of the wound to my arm, as was most anything else requiring too much exertion. I sighed, realizing I'd have to drag him off into the woods for now and come back to find a more permanent means of disposal later. It would be unlikely he'd be found anyway, but I wished we were a little closer to the fighting. It wasn't unusual for the occasional volley of picket fire to take a man down some distance from the center of a battle. 'Course this man hadn't been shot, but I could remedy that if need be.

I dragged the body through the yard and behind the barn into a copse of trees. I didn't like it, but at the same time I stood there, looking at the body of the man I killed, I could feel a trickle of blood running down my arm inside my shirt and I knew the makeshift tourniquet was giving way.

I looked up at the sky as I walked slowly back to the house. The placement of the sun in the hazy sky told me it was well past midday, and I marveled at how the day had escaped me.

Alice and Bella stood in front of the door, hats fixed to their heads. Bella held out a piece of cornbread and some water to me, speaking even as she began to walk.

"You'll need to eat something to keep your strength up. It's not a far distance, but I saw how hard it was for you to drag that body. Alice and I can't very well drag _you_ if you can't make it to the Doc's house."

Her words were clipped and she avoided looking me in the eyes, which I felt certain was in response to what she'd heard me say in the yard. I had to find a way to convince them that my presence was a danger. My mind raced, warring with my heart, which screamed that I could never leave Alice. I'd have to find a way though, once I got this wound patched up.

Alice glared at Bella, no doubt catching the shortness in her voice. And without knowing the why of it, I supposed it would have made her angry, but thankfully she didn't' speak. We walked slowly and deliberately toward the road and the good doctor's house, every step another step closer to tearing me away from Alice; every step another step closer to keeping her safe.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **More thanks than I can express to **averysubtlegift** as always, and especially this week since she's on vacation. She makes this story better, and I couldn't do this without her.

And at the risk of sounding like a broken record, thanks to all of you for reading, alerting, and reviewing. I hope you enjoy the early update! :)

As always, all things Twilight and the characters therein belong to Stephenie Meyer, no copyright infringement intended. The battle at Gettysburg, the events of July 3, 1863, and the anecdotes included below belong to the ages.

* * *

**Bella**

_"And then I'll go…"_

Jasper's words echoed in my head so loudly I thought I must finally know what it feels like to be on a battlefield in the midst of all the gunfire. He'd uttered them in such a low whisper that I knew they weren't intended to be heard, but I'd heard them nonetheless.

So he was leaving. I didn't know why I was surprised. They all left, one way or another: Jacob; my father; Mr. Black; Emmett and Edward. And now Jasper would leave too. But I'd thought he would stick. Seeing him with Alice, seeing the sense of…completeness they seemed to bring to one another, I'd thought Jasper would be the one to stay. Many people mistook Alice's endless supply of vigor and motion for perpetual happiness. She'd never confirmed my suspicions to the contrary, but my personal perception was that she was in a constant state of unrest because she was searching for something, for someone.

In the last two days though, it was as though a general sense of peace had settled over our home, despite the bloody conflict going on but a few leagues from here. It wasn't as if we'd ceased our daily activities, nor that our work had somehow lessened.

But when Alice and Jasper were in the same space, they practically emanated calm. He balanced her unrest with his serenity; in truth, the ease with which he had inserted himself into our lives brought a sense of relief to all three of us in our own ways. Rosalie, who had always been our fierce protector, felt a moment of rest, a sense of shared responsibility, or so I thought. Not to mention Jasper's penchant for finishing the very chores she shirked, for despite her tendencies toward unladylike behavior, Rosalie was still no stronger than most women, and men's work was taxing to her after a time. I could see her weariness when she thought no one was looking; she'd slump over near the fire when she was alone in the kitchen, and more than once I'd come downstairs to find her asleep with her head in her arms on the table.

I myself had appreciated Jasper's presence as much as my friends, much to my surprise. I had thought perhaps he would serve as a painful reminder of the husband I'd lost. He'd been there after all, been wounded by a bullet Jacob had fired. But after some time to process what I'd heard, I'd realized that there was great comfort in Edward's stories, both in the one about their shared Christmas celebration and, unbelievably in the solace Edward had provided Jacob as he lay dying, that I felt a growing sense of gratitude toward Jasper in the hours after Edward departed. Finally I had the answers I'd sought. I hadn't been fooling myself before the three Confederates had shown up in my barn; I knew Jacob was dead long before Edward confirmed my fears with his story. Jacob had been like true north. He never wavered, never faltered, never veered from a path once he set upon it.

And so, when, after receiving nearly a letter a day for almost 18 months, his letters stopped coming, I knew something had happened. Hearing the how of it, though terrible and painful, served more as a salve to my wounds, though hearing it from the man who took my husband's life with his own hands was more than I'd thought I should or would ever have to bear. And yet even as the pain coursed through me, I felt relief and peace, gratitude and comfort in knowing that I had the answers that so many other widows this war would leave behind would seek without respite their whole lives.

But if Jasper left, even after just a few short days, I feared Alice would become one of those widows as well, just as if he'd been shot down on some distant field of battle. They were linked now, as much so, it seemed, as if they'd been tied to one another their whole lives. I feared what losing that tie might do to my friend, for I'd seen beautiful, strong, kind women cut down to gaunt, tearful, agony-filled wraiths when word from the lines came that they'd lost their loves. I'd come dangerously close to joining their ranks myself, and it had only been Rosalie and Alice that had saved me from their fate.

I glared at Jasper as we walked out onto the main road and turned up the hill toward Doctor Cullen's place. I reproached myself even as I did it; he'd just saved us, and I knew that. The drying line of blood running down Alice's throat was as bold a reminder as I'd ever need. But he might be condemning Alice to an equally wretched fate if he left, and I couldn't abide that no matter how grateful I was.

Alice shot pointed looks at me in turn, making it very clear that though I had overheard Jasper, she had not. I tried to temper my glowers so as not to further arouse her suspicion as we walked.

To say we walked might have been a generous overstatement; in fact, we did little more than shuffle up the road. I was grateful Doc Cullen and his wife, Esme, only lived in the next farm up the road. At the rate we were traveling, any further might have taken us the rest of the day. Jasper had lost a good bit of blood – I grew a bit queasy just thinking of the shiny red liquid pooling in the dirt under Jasper and the dead Yankee soldier – and he was moving rather slowly. Alice and I matched his deliberate steps, flanking him in the event he required help maintaining his balance. The bandage we'd secured to his arm was red with blood, but I took heart that it seemed not to have spread far onto the cloth of his shirt.

We walked in silence, doubtless each pondering what had happened in the past few hours. The only sounds were the wind whistling through the grass and the distant sounds of cannon fire, a constant reminder of the battle waging on to the east.

As we crested the hill on the road, Doc Cullen's house came into view. It was a lovely two-story whitewashed house, with beautiful trees all around and lining the road like perfect lines of soldiers standing at attention. Turning down the Cullens' road, I marveled at the beauty of it, at the perfection and the peace in this place even despite all the chaos and horror in the world.

Doc Cullen came out to meet us as we neared the house. He was a kindly-looking man with hair fairer even than Rosalie's. His eyes glittered as blue as the sky, and his face, tanned like everyone else's that worked the land this time of year, was marked only by gentle lines around his eyes and mouth, for despite his sometimes gruesome profession, the good doctor could always be counted on for a smile.

"Alice, Bella." He greeted us with warmth in his voice, though his eyes never strayed from Jasper. "What a pleasant surprise to see you two girls today, Esme will be so pleased! And I see you've brought me a patient." He made to extend his hand to Jasper in greeting, then thought better of it as he took in the bandage on Jasper's arm.

"Come along with me, young man, and we'll see to that arm." Doctor Cullen put a gentle hand on Jasper's other shoulder, leading him toward the house.

Alice smiled encouragingly to Jasper, who seemed more at ease already. "It's a pity you haven't brought Rosalie with you, ladies. She's become rather adept with a stitch. I might have let her practice on your young friend here!" The doctor chuckled as Jasper's eyes bulged a bit.

I stopped dead in my tracks at his words, causing Alice, who had been just behind me, to crash into my back.

"Ouch! Bella, what on earth…?" She trailed off as I whirled on her.

"Alice, you said Rosalie was here. You said she went to help Doctor Cullen this morning with a patient." I spun back to face the doctor, who had stopped at the threshold of the door with Jasper and had turned to look at me, all traces of a smile gone from his face now, his brow furrowed.

"Bella, I've had no patients today until your friend here." He glanced at Jasper. "I'm sorry, young man, I didn't introduce myself and as such don't know your name. I'm Doctor Cullen. You may call me Carlisle though, or Doc Cullen if you prefer."

Jasper nodded awkwardly to the doctor. "Jasper Whitlock, sir."

I blinked, still trying to take in what I'd just heard.

"Alice, where is Rosalie? If she isn't here, where is she?" I looked back at my friend whose face had gone a bit white. "Alice! What are you keeping from me?" My voice had neared a shriek, and I must have been very loud, for Doc Cullen's wife, Esme, appeared at the door next to her husband, watching the exchange.

Alice gulped.

"I had a dream, Bella. You know the kind I mean." I felt my heart start to beat very fast as she spoke, hammering in my chest like the hoof beats of a horse. "It…I saw Edward and Emmett. One of them was hurt, I couldn't tell which one." She rushed past my unspoken question and continued. "I woke Rose this morning and she's gone to the lines to see what she can find. I couldn't tell you, Bella. Not after…" Alice trailed off again, and this time she didn't resume speaking.

"Not after what, Alice?" I hissed. "Not after Jacob? Not after weeks of waiting for word, of checking those godforsaken lists for his name to show up under 'Dead' or 'Wounded' or 'Missing'? Not after my husband ended up dead and I found myself widowed at 20? Not after I fell in love with a man I'd known scarcely a few hours only to find out he'd fired the shot that widowed me? For God's sake Alice, after all that, you still had to lie to me? So I could find out like this?" I flung my hand toward the doctor and his wife and Jasper, who were all staring at me.

Alice trembled in front of me, unshed tears swimming in her eyes. I seethed, and my breath came in ragged pants.

"We…I was trying to protect you, Bella," she whispered. "I didn't think you could take any more pain, and I thought if we waited until we were sure, we could save you the hurt if…"

"Alice, my husband is dead. I had breakfast two days ago with the Rebel who killed him, then threw him out of my house, then chased him down and kissed him. Just how much more room for hurt do you think I have left?" I half-sobbed, half-yelled that last.

Alice still hadn't moved, and she began to shake her head and whisper apologies, but I was having none of it. I focused everything on regaining my breath until all of a sudden both Doc Cullen and Esme were at our sides. I heard Esme speaking slowly to Alice, beckoning her to the kitchen to clean the blood from her neck and dress.

"Bella, I need you to come and help me since Rosalie isn't here." Doc Cullen's voice startled me. I looked up in confusion and those eyes bore into mine. "Bella." He repeated my name more firmly and took my arm. "I require some assistance, and it seems you could use the distraction. Come this way, won't you?"

I stumbled after him and followed as he led Jasper through the front door and down a corridor to the back of the house where I knew he kept his office. My mind was reeling. Edward might be wounded. Despite what I'd said to Alice, the very thought of harm coming to him brought stabs of pain to my chest and I had to fight to keep my breath from speeding up again.

But she'd said she didn't know which one it was. Maybe it was Emmett. I chided myself as quickly as the thought came into my head. The kind sergeant deserved better than I was giving him; he might have been the kindest, most loyal man I'd ever met, and I was disgusted with myself for hoping harm had come to him, even for a second, even to spare Edward.

Doctor Cullen motioned to Jasper to be seated and set about gathering what he needed to tend to his wound. He began to hand me things, bandages, a small basin with water in it, a cloth, then directed me to stand behind Jasper on the side of the wound.

He didn't really need my help, I knew that, but he was trying to give me some time to calm down while his wife no doubt comforted Alice. I felt a pang of guilt for my tirade. Perhaps I'd been unduly harsh, but I couldn't help but feel outrage at her lie.

I noticed Jasper had taken great pains to avoid the subject, preferring instead to grit his teeth against the doctor's probes in silence.

"Jasper, you knew, didn't you?" My voice was raspy from yelling at Alice.

Jasper slumped a little, then nodded once, never looking up at me. I sighed. So it had come to this. Everyone protecting poor, sad Bella. I felt like an invalid, like I was somehow less than whole.

Once when I was very little, I'd been sick for days with some fever or another. My father had been so worried, and Doc Cullen had been at my bedside for most of the time I could remember. I would fade in and out of delirium, but every time I woke up, my father and whoever else was there at the time would stop their quiet, worried talking in the corner of the room and rush to my side. Their voices were always too brassy, too happy; their words were full of comfort and promises, even as their eyes were pools of despair.

I felt much the same way now, as though the rest of the world would whisper in the corner to keep the worst from me until I woke up, then reassure me until I faded away again.

"Bella, could you please hand me that bottle of brandy behind you and a glass from the tray please?" Doc Cullen's voice was soft and grave. I nodded mutely and poured a bit of the amber-colored liquid into one of the fine crystal glasses sitting on the tray next to it and held it out to Jasper. It didn't escape my notice that the color of the potion Doc Cullen was giving Jasper as a salve to his pain before the stitches was very nearly the same color as Edward's hair had been, shining in the sun from the ground at my feet when we met. I shuddered.

Jasper took the glass and bowed his head for a moment, then drank its contents in one pull and nodded to the doctor, who set about stitching up the wound. I couldn't watch; the sight of the gash in his arm served up images in my head of Edward wounded irreparably, his broken, bleeding body in a heap on the battlefield as Emmett stood over him helplessly. Then the scene in my mind changed, reversing their positions, showing Edward screaming inconsolably over Emmett's lifeless body, then charging directly toward the enemy with no thought for his own safety.

I didn't know which was worse. I felt myself shaking and drew a deep breath.

"This is a pretty deep cut, Jasper," Doc Cullen said. His voice sounded absent, as though he was making casual conversation, but the look in his eye said differently, as did his next words. "Very clean though, almost like a blade of some sort?"

He left the question floating in the office, almost palpable in the heavy summer air.

Jasper sighed and looked at me, but didn't speak. I knew he was uncertain how much he could tell the doctor, especially given the circumstances that had brought him to our lives. But I'd known Doc Cullen my whole life, and I knew that if an ally were to be found, it would be here.

"Jasper was helping with some chores around the farm this morning," I said quietly, purposely skipping over how he'd come to be there in the first place or from whence he'd come. "The…other…soldier came back. It seemed he'd been watching us since…" I trailed off, looking to the doctor for acknowledgement to save me from reliving the last time Yankee soldiers came to call. Doc Cullen nodded somberly, urging me on.

"The soldier had a knife," I said, speaking a bit more quickly. I wanted to get through this story as fast as I could. "He got to Alice. Jasper heard me scream and came to our rescue. There was…" I cut off and looked at Jasper, whose gaze was fixed to the ground at his feet. I took a deep breath to steady myself as I considered my words. "There was a scuffle, and Jasper took a knife wound to the arm."

I stopped, hoping against hope that Doc Cullen would leave it there. He was silent for so long, I thought perhaps he had.

"And what became of the soldier, Jasper?" He asked, looking straight at Jasper now, his stitching fingers coming to a stop. "If he was anything like his friend, I can't imagine how you were able to drive him away with this," he gestured to Jasper's wound, "being the worst of the damage."

"No sir," Jasper said quietly. "I didn't drive him away. And this wasn't the worst of it."

That was all he said, but the doctor nodded in understanding and looked thoughtful and grave.

"I don't know you, son," Doc Cullen said, kindness emanating from his face and his words. "I don't know where you came from, and I don't know how you came to be on the Swans' farm. That accent of yours gives me some idea, but frankly it doesn't matter to me." He elevated his voice to be heard over Jasper's stutters of protest. He looked at me fondly, smiling a little, then back to Jasper.

"Esme and I could never have children, Jasper. Much as we've always wanted a family, it seems we were never destined to have one of our own. We watched Bella here grow up as if she was our own. When Rosalie and Alice came to stay, they became like daughters as well. If you've kept them safe, I owe you our gratitude, but you must know that killing a Union soldier won't go unpunished if someone notices he's missing. And it pains me to say so, but his imbecile of a friend is likely to notice when the Army comes to collect him from the jail. He was spouting about a man named Laurent before, claiming it was this Laurent that came up with the idea to go to the Swan farm to steal a horse, but I believe he's only trying to deflect blame. Still, an investigation, should one occur, would lead the Army to Bella's, and if you're there, you won't go unnoticed."

It was Jasper's turn to nod gravely, and I found myself nodding too, understanding taking root at last about why Jasper felt he had to go.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," he said. "I don't want to go. I never wanted to go. But if the Union finds me at your house, I'll be taken prisoner. I could bear that, but not what might happen to you and to Rosalie and Alice for harboring a Confederate soldier." A single tear ran down his cheek, making a track through the dust that had stuck there during his scuffle with the dead Yankee. "I wanted to protect you. I thought I was protecting you by staying. But I can't protect you from myself, from what my very presence might bring upon you, unless I leave."

"But where can you go, Jasper? You can't go back, can you? Wouldn't they notice? Wouldn't that endanger Emmett and Edward for keeping your secret? They could be tried as accomplices or something, couldn't they?" He nodded grimly, confirming my suspicions, and I knew Jasper would never put Emmett or Edward in that position. "And you can't go home. They'll find you there."

"I reckon I'll go west, Bella," he said, a little glumly. "I've heard tell of gold peaking through in Colorado territory. I could try my hand at panning or even mining, or maybe start some kind of supply shop. A man could do worse, and out there I'd be far enough away from this mess that likely no one would think twice."

We all three sat for a while, Doc Cullen resuming his stitches, Jasper and I considering his predicament, neither of us speaking. He was right, much as it pained me to admit it, and he'd taken care of our greatest threat this morning anyway. But Alice … however would we tell Alice?

"If you're going Jasper, I'm going too." Alice's voice, quiet but strong, startled us all from the doorway into Doc Cullen's office. "I've been waiting my whole life for you, don't think I'll let you go that easily."

"But Alice…"Jasper's protest was cut off by Esme's voice coming from the front of the house.

"Carlisle, come quickly!" Then more quietly, "Rose, let me help you, you look exhausted and the boy can barely stand."

We all jumped up, scrambling for the door. I fairly ran through the corridor to the front of the house.

"…the boy can barely stand."

Who had Rosalie found? How bad was it? My mind teetered on the brink of full-blown terror as I skidded to a halt at the frame of the front door. Jasper nearly collided with me, and Alice, who had a head start from the doorway of the office, flew down the stairs after Esme to help Rosalie.

The pale, gaunt face that looked up at me from the bottom of the stairs barely looked like the man I'd met not two days gone. His skin was waxy and ashen, his eyes, so lustrous in the sunlight before, were dark, glazed pits in his face. Were it not for the shock of copper-colored hair atop his head, I might never have named this man for Edward.

Dried blood lined the neck of his shirt and gray jacket, originating, I thought, from somewhere on the back of his head. But more worrisome was the leg of his trousers, which was caked and matted with a dark stain, even through a makeshift bandage. I took a margin of comfort in the fact that it appeared to be dried, but it seemed that the amount of blood on his clothing might explain why all the color had run from his skin.

I realized I was holding my hand to my mouth when I tried to speak and all that came out was muffled sounds.

"Edward, what..." I gulped and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, then trained my eyes on Rose.

"How bad, Rose?" I whispered as she and Esme propelled Edward up the front steps.

"Bella?" Edward's voice was little more than a rasp.

"I'm here, Edward. Let's get you inside," I said, sounding stronger than I felt. I turned to follow behind the parade and we shuffled back to Doc Cullen's office.

Rosalie and Esme guided Edward until he lay propped up on the chaise, tilted to one side so as not to disturb the wounds to his head and leg. He looked so weak, I once again could scarcely believe this was the same young man from two days ago.

Free of Edward's weight, Rose slumped into the chair Jasper had recently abandoned. She looked exhausted, and suddenly I realized what she must have seen and done today.

I fought every urge in my body to go straight to Edward's side, knowing the doctor needed room to work. He was already bent over Edward, examining the wounded man's head and shaking his own as he muttered to himself.

"Rose, did he have anything to eat?" The doctor asked.

"Not much, Carlisle, although I got him to drink a good bit of water. He was better earlier, much more awake, but as the day went on we had to ride harder to get clear of the men pushing back from the battlefield. I fear I may have pushed him too hard, but I didn't know what else to do."

Rose held her head in her hands and let out a long, ragged breath.

"Esme, darling," the doctor said to his wife, "perhaps you could find some broth and a bit of bread for our young patient, and a meal for Rosalie. Alice, Jasper, could you give my wife a hand please?"

Esme nodded and left the room immediately, off to do what she'd always done best: take care of everyone around her. Jasper seemed to hesitate, looking to his fallen friend, but Alice stepped up and took his hand, tugging gently. They left the room together, hands clasped, looking for all the world as if they'd been that way forever. And somehow I knew that even though Jasper might try to protest, when he left us, she would be at his side.

I turned my attention back to Rosalie, who still had her head down. I thought perhaps she might fall asleep there in the chair. Normally I would have let her be, but I was desperate to hear more. I was anxious to hear answers while I waited for the doctor to finish. I wanted to fill the space of time until I could sit with Edward.

"Where did you find him, Rose?" I asked quietly, prodding gently. "And where is Emmett?"

At the mention of the sergeant's name, she jerked upright and tears sprung to her eyes.

"I had to leave him there, Bella. He looked so tired and sad and scared, and I said something horrible to him, and then I had to leave him or Edward would have died!" She began to cry, something Rose didn't do often. I stroked her hair and waited as she wept, until finally she was able to piece together the events of the day.

She told us how she'd stumbled upon Edward and Emmett in a clearing among some trees, and how she'd convinced Emmett she could do better by Edward than the hospitals on the lines, which earned her a snort and a glance from Doc Cullen. She broke down again when she told us about riding away and leaving Emmett standing there all alone.

The room fell quiet after a time; the only sound I heard was Edward's uneven breathing.

Rose's eyes had drifted shut, so I stood and moved to Doc Cullen's side.

"How bad?" I repeated the question I'd asked Rosalie, fearing the worst. "Will he recover the use of his leg?"

The doctor sighed, and my heart sunk in my chest.

"I don't know yet, Bella. He lost a great deal of blood, and I don't know how the tissue around it will react, but I've cleaned the wound very thoroughly. Rosalie was right, bringing him here was better than leaving him to wait to be treated in one of those infested field hospitals. He'd have been untended for hours. We must hope that no infection took hold on the ride here. She may have taxed him greatly by pushing the horse, but every moment she rushed was one less that an infection would have had to generate. We can only wait now, Bella, and hope."

At that moment, Esme appeared alone in the doorway to the office holding a tray. There was bread and some cheese and fruit, probably fresh from their orchard, and a steaming bowl that I thought must contain a broth for Edward. She set the tray on the desk next to

where Rosalie sat, still sleeping. I went to the bowl, picking it up carefully and walking slowly toward the chaise. I looked up at Doc Cullen, and he nodded, which I took as a sign that it was okay to try to wake Edward. I placed the bowl on the floor near where his head was propped on the chaise and sat gently on the edge.

I heard more than saw the Cullens quietly leaving the office, and I suddenly found myself alone with Edward and a sleeping Rosalie. I reached up gingerly to brush a wayward strand of copper from Edward's forehead and once again felt the spark jump from his skin to mine at my touch. I began to gently stroke his temple, feeling almost absently grateful that the skin was cool to my touch, rather than hot. No fever yet, which meant no serious infection had already set in.

His eyes fluttered open and I pulled my hand away reluctantly.

"Bella?" He glanced around uncertainly, his voice a bit stronger then the croak he'd emitted when he entered the house.

"You need to eat, Edward," I said, bending to pick up the bowl. "Doc Cullen says you'll need your strength to recover, and you lost a great deal of blood. Are you in much pain?"

I drew some of the warm broth from the bowl with the spoon and slowly raised it to his lips. He sipped and closed his eyes, then swallowed.

"My God, I hadn't realized how hungry I was until just this moment," he said, and I brought another spoonful to his mouth. "The pain is manageable. I think your doctor gave me something when he was examining me; it's much less now than it was before. And far better than when I came to, slung over the saddle of your mare." He chuckled weakly and I glared at Rosalie's sleeping figure. She'd left that part out of her tale.

"Don't be too hard on her Bella," Edward said between spoonfuls of broth. "She likely saved my life, and my leg, if it heals."

He reached a hand down to the wound and winced.

"Is there anything else to eat?" He asked a little timidly, and I got up to get the bread from the tray. There was enough for Rosalie and him, so I took half and left the rest. I held it out to him; I couldn't come up with a way to feed him bread as I had the broth, then puzzled a little at myself for wishing I could.

He ate in silence. When he finished, he looked at me, some of the light coming back into his eyes. The ashen pallor in his cheeks had faded as well, giving way to a tinge of regular color. I could feel my muscles relax in relief even as I tensed under his gaze. He looked at me like…like he knew what I looked like under my shift, although there was no leering or crudeness in his eyes. They were tender and familiar, and I felt my skin burn as if it were on fire under their intensity.

Finally I broke the silence, nervousness breaking through my voice, causing it to crack and break.

"I'm sorry I told you to get out, Edward. I shouldn't have made you leave like that. You did what you had to do, and so did Jacob, and he got killed, and now you're injured. I nearly lost you too, just as I've lost him, and I was so hateful when you left. Just like I was when he left. I was horrible and hateful and he left and never came back. I should have learned better, but instead I sent you away too, and you almost didn't come back. I'm so sorry. So very ,very sorry."

Tears began to seep from my eyes and they fell onto my dress. Edward looked at me for a moment, then reached up, wincing again, and wiped at my cheek with his thumb. Then he reached down and took hold of my hand, pulling it to sit between us on the chaise.

"Bella, I shot your husband. I killed him. Not some nameless, faceless Reb you'll never meet. Me. If we lived a thousand years and you never forgave me for that, I'd understand." His voice was full of sorrow.

"But you didn't leave him to die alone, did you? You held him while he died. You comforted him. You knew him, if only for one silly holiday celebration." I wiped at my face. "Edward, knowing about your Christmas together, knowing that he had someone at the end, that means something to me. It brings me peace for him. I should be thanking you; he might have been shot by anyone, but not just anyone would have gone out to that patch of grass and come away with my locket."

Again we sat in silence, gripping one another's hands so tightly I could see my fingers turning white with the effort. After a time, I was surprised to hear him chuckle again.

"You know, Bella. If that kiss you sent me away with was you being hateful, I'd be much obliged to see how you treat someone you look upon with some favor one day."

My eyes widened with shock for a moment, then I began to giggle. It felt wonderful to laugh. Tears streamed down my face again, but this time from the laughter. I looked up to see Edward grinning at me, clearly pleased with himself.

"You should rest," I said when I regained control of my senses. "You've a bit of healing to do before Doc Cullen will let me take you home."

He smiled again, this time tiredly, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Very well, Nurse Bella, I'll do as you say." He tipped his head back, taking care not to apply pressure to the wound on the back of his head. His eyes closed, then flew open again as I began to loosen the grip on his hand. I didn't want to disturb his rest, so I planned, reluctantly, to go find Alice and Jasper.

"Stay."

And with that one word, he tightened his own grip, flexing the sinew in his arm to pull me back to the chaise. I resumed my seat, pulling my legs up under my skirts for a more comfortable position, then ever so hesitantly, I lifted our entwined fingers to my lips and kissed the scraped knuckles of Edward's hand.

He smiled slightly without opening his eyes, and I watched as his features relaxed and his breathing slowed until finally he slept.

Only then did I allow the great sobs of relief to silently rack my body, and my tears fell freely on our interlaced hands.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Thank you all, as always for reading. Our journey is almost over; there are two chapters remaining after this one. I appreciate each and every one of you for being on it with me.

Also, as always, neither this chapter nor this story would be the same without **averysubtlegift** and her beta magic. If you still haven't read the Price of Balance, she finished it last week and it is perfection. Run, don't walk, to read it.

All things Twilight and the characters therein belong to Stephenie Meyer, no copyright infringement intended. The battle at Gettysburg, the actions of both armies in July of 1863, and the anecdotes included below belong to the ages.

* * *

**Emmett**

As I watched Rosalie ride away with Top slung over the front of that saddle, I realized that in all my years, I'd never felt so helpless or alone. How had we come to this? Three days ago, we were three; we were damaged and jaded, but we had one another. We'd been three for nearly as long as I could remember. Top and I were young when Jasper showed up at school after his folks died, and it wasn't long after that he moved in with the Masens and just like that, we were three.

And now for the first time since Jasper came to our town and the three of us became inseparable, I was truly alone.

I stumbled back toward the center of the retreating lines, trying to get any bit of news I could from soldiers that looked as though they'd fared a good bit better than Top had, although those seemed few and far between. Despite my preoccupation with getting Top out of harm's way, it hadn't escaped my notice that most of our regiment had fallen in the attack and subsequent fray. The few that breached the wall when Top and I did were, I heard, captured. I wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn that we were the only two to make it out, although experience told me that was unlikely.

Then again, this was like nothing I'd ever seen.

Our retreating forces were a shambles. I caught a glimpse of General Pickett riding aimlessly along the lines of broken, battered men stumbling back to safety. His eyes, usually so full of pride and zeal, were flat and empty. His face seemed to have aged twenty years in a few short hours. I wondered if he, if any of us, would ever fully recover from the horrors of this day in Pennsylvania.

The uninjured and those with inconsequential wounds milled about in a state of unrest and confusion the likes of which I hadn't seen in two years in the Army. Yet upon consideration, I found I was no different than the wandering men I looked upon. My regiment was scattered, my commander shot down. And the two people I'd come to count on most through all the chaos of battle were gone, left to the hands of three women we hardly knew.

But then, that's what war did to a man, wasn't it? It forced him to place his trust in strangers. We marched into battle after battle together, and the odds that you knew the man to your right or your left as you faced down death were slim, especially at the start unless you joined up with fellows you knew. When whole regiments were lost, the few survivors were re-assigned, and they joined their new brothers, placing their trust in them just as they had their old.

My cousin very likely did have a better chance of retaining life and limb with Rosalie than he would have here. I had only to walk past another ramshackle tent that was meant to serve as a hospital to be assured that putting Top on that horse was his only hope.

I weaved through the crowds of men back to where the regiment had discarded our belongings before we took the field. I'd have to carry Top's things as well as my own, and find a way to find him again. That part of Rosalie's cockamamie plan to get Edward away safely had gone overlooked in her haste to get back on the road toward Bella's farm. I had no idea how I'd get back to my cousin before the Army moved.

I began to hear murmurs and rumors of retreat orders passing through the camps even as the sound of gun and artillery fire continued to echo from the ground we'd tried in vain to take this afternoon. No one had ordered such a retreat yet, but the men felt defeat as if we already had surrendered the whole war. Preliminary reports actually had losses fairly evenly matched up until now, but we felt them far more keenly two years into the war. And the devastation of the failed charge this afternoon felt altogether different somehow, like a mistake. As long as the boys in gray fought for the Confederacy, at least until now, it had seemed as though the odds could always be beaten. Like Luck herself was on our side. But today God, Luck, and the odds had deserted us, and we'd been soundly whipped as a result.

It would be a strain on any man to hold fast to a cause after suffering such a resounding blow, and hesitation and a willingness to retreat were showing themselves where they'd never been before.

I chuckled bitterly despite the scene around me that would make most men believe they'd never laugh again.

All this waste, all this blood and pain and death, and for what? So we could slip back to our own territory with our tails between our legs? We would never get this far north again, anyone could see that. We hadn't the men nor the supplies for another assault on northern ground like this one unless the Union Army put down their arms and went home. And we'd be lucky if this new Union General Meade would let us get away from this battle without finishing us off even as we fled. A swift blow to what would surely be a long straggling line of weary and wounded men would cripple us so severely it might end the war in the Eastern Theater. And once this army was lost, the war in the west would soon follow.

The sky began to darken as I finally neared our camp. The summer sun had set, and the darkness was compounded by the growing layer of clouds that seemed to crop up after every major battle. First the blood and the killing, and then later, the rain. That was always the way of it.

I saw only a few familiar faces as I approached the section of the haphazard camps where our regiment had left our belongings. Most were covered in dirt and soot and blood; some were wounded, others just looked shaken or lost or so weary they hadn't the strength to do more than draw breath. In spite of their pain, I was grateful for their weariness. I spoke as little as possible as I moved through the tents and piles of blankets and haversacks. When I reached the tent I usually shared with both Edward and Jasper, I stooped through the opening and nearly fell to my bedroll. As I looked around though, the small canvas tent, which usually seemed cramped and stuffy when crammed with three men, was almost drafty in its emptiness. I shivered in spite of the July heat, uncomfortable with the loneliness that bore down from the tent walls.

I was parched with thirst and racked with hunger, neither of which I had noticed until I finally stopped moving for the first time all day. But I couldn't' force myself to crawl back out of the tent in search of a meal. Beside what seemed an effort of unimaginable proportions, I was trying my hardest to avoid any prying eyes that might notice that I'd gone from two tent mates to none in the space of a few days.

Digging through my haversack, I produced a bit of leftover cornbread that had been stuffed into the pockets of our coats by Alice and Rosalie, unbeknownst to any of us, before we departed the farm. Top and I had fairly cheered when we discovered the paper-wrapped bundles, and we'd been rationing them since.

I ate what I had left, which was barely enough to quiet my belly, and drank what little water remained in my canteen. It wasn't much, but it seemed sufficient, as I dropped off to sleep not long after. As my eyelids drooped, I was vaguely aware that the constant barrage of artillery fire that had filled the air for three days was gone, leaving behind it an eerie quiet punctuated only by the wails and cries of the wounded and dying.

I was normally able to block out their screams after a battle; the sounds of the wounded were more or less just another part of this life now, and we learned to sleep through all the noises that accompanied an army. But this night was different, and the howls of the fallen invaded my dreams, filling them with blood and terror. Every face was Top's, no matter where I looked. All I could see was my cousin dead or dying, thousands bearing his likeness on a field of blood, and they all screamed and screamed as they fell or stumbled or crawled or crumpled.

I was grateful when a rumble in the distance shook me awake, even as I scrambled to dress. It took me several moments to realize it was thunder and not a renewal of the artillery barrage of the last few days.

I finished dressing more slowly and wandered out into the night, abandoning any further efforts to sleep. Men slept in clusters around stacks of belongings, and choruses of snores floated through the air. I walked among them for a long time, moving quietly through the rows of soldiers and piles of unclaimed possessions that likely belonged to the thousands of dead or wounded that never made it back behind the lines. I drifted toward the sound of low voices coming from a line of larger tents under some trees behind the camps of the enlisted men. These tents glowed with lantern light amidst the darkness. Officers' tents. The Army might sleep, but its officers would be awake the night after such a terrible battle.

I dallied as near to the tents as I dared, trying to stay in the shadows and avoid the eyes of aides and sentries. I had no excuse to tarry, and the last thing I wanted was to draw the eyes of superior officers.

Snatches of conversation drifted on the wind, confirming the gravity of our losses and further lamenting the fall of so many officers. Foot soldiers may have been the fodder for the enemy, and there was no doubt our commanders valued us. But losing the men that led us into battle, showing fearlessness even as they were struck inwardly by the same terror we all felt, that would cripple the Army.

Finally, as I passed a large tent that was particularly full, its inhabitants' numbers betrayed by the shadows cast on the canvas, I heard pieces of the news I was looking for.

"…quick run for the Potomac before they regroup to attack…back the way we came through Chambersburg…maybe slip away back across South Mountain…"

The voices continued, but I'd already made an abrupt turn on my heel back to where my belongings lay. I struck our small tent and packed Tops things in with mine as tightly as I could. My burden was lighter than I had anticipated, given that I was carrying two men's things, but other than Top's violin, he had little, and I even less.

I counted myself lucky that the men camped nearby were so exhausted from three days' hard fighting that none of them so much as stirred as I crept out of camp and made for the western edge of the lines, still staying in the shadows of the trees and trying to ignore the cries of the wounded when I passed a hospital tent. For those, peace would only come in death, and I muttered a silent prayer as I passed that it might visit them quickly and with mercy this night.

The Army would retreat back to Virginia through Chambersburg, so I would start my retreat just a few hours earlier and make for Bella's farm to find out the fate of my cousin.

I spent the better part of several hours fretting over the condition I'd last seen Top in; he'd been so pale, so lifeless when we piled him onto the back of Rosalie's mare. I argued with myself over and over that I'd done the best thing by him by sending him with her. The field hospitals were death traps, but I still hated not knowing what had happened, and I feared the worst when, several hours later in the morning light, I arrived back at the farm.

I felt as though months, not days had passed since I'd last been here, and I hastened up the road toward the house. As I cleared the last of the trees, I was surprised to see Jasper, Alice, Rosalie, and Bella standing in front of the house with a man with a shock of fair hair so light I almost mistook him for an older fellow until I drew nearer.

Jasper saw me first, his face breaking into a grin the likes of which I hadn't seen since before the war, and I couldn't help but smile back as I quickened my pace to greet them. He stepped forward to shake my hand, but as I reached out, I was nearly knocked from my feet by the double impact of Bella and Rosalie throwing their arms about my neck and waist.

I barely recovered from the shock of it before Rosalie stepped back almost as quickly as she'd lunged into me, and I found myself feeling a twinge of disappointment at the loss.

Bella, however, remained, arms around my waist and head pressed into my coat.

"Thank you Emmett, thank you for bringing him out of there." Her voice was muffled, and I thought perhaps tears would once again stain my jacket when she pulled away, but I patted her back and chuckled.

"I wasn't about to leave him there, Bella," I said easily, my tone betraying the emotion I felt at seeing them all, and the relief coursing through my mind as I realized that Bella's thanks meant Top had lived. "The last thing I need is to leave my wounded cousin behind enemy lines to get captured and hauled off to some camp. With my luck, he'd survive and make some great escape, and end up some great war hero, no thanks to me. See, this way, he owes me. Who's the hero now?" I was still chuckling when she pulled away from me, her face stern, but her eyes betraying the laughter she was holding back.

I'd learned long ago that sometimes the only way to get through the most trying times in this war was with a dash of humor and irreverence that sometimes I didn't feel. I knew despite my laughter that my own eyes mirrored hers, sparkling with mirth, but also with tears.

Jasper finally cut through Bella's grasp, hand extended again. I shook it, holding on just a bit longer than necessary.

"I missed you out there, Corporal," I said quietly, all jest gone from my voice. "It just ain't the same without you."

Jasper nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.

"That may be, but it seems I made the right choice, Em." He smiled a little wider as he went on. "Look, Top goes off with you and gets stabbed and banged up. I stay here and…well, I guess I get stabbed and banged up. Never mind, I guess it was all a wash." He chuckled, but there wasn't much mirth in it now.

"What the hell happened, Jas?" I was confused now. How had Jasper ended up wounded? And where was Edward?

Rosalie spoke up, finally breaking her silence. Her face still showed spots of fading red.

"The soldier I didn't club over the head came back while I was gone hunting you and Edward down." I blanched and my eyes widened as I looked from Bella to Alice and back to Bella again, searching them both for some sign of harm. I caught sight of a thin line that looked to be a healing cut at Alice's throat, and I clenched my teeth. Neither Bella nor Alice seemed to notice my gaze or my glare. They both were looking at Jasper, who was looking at his shoes.

"Seems Jasper came just in the nick of time." Rosalie went on. "There was something of a scuffle though, once he got that dirty bastard to release my sister."

Now Jasper's jaw tightened and he balled his hands into fists. He cut Rose off before she could continue.

"There was a scuffle and he had a blade," Jasper said quietly, still examining his shoes. "He got a good stick into my arm before it was all over, that's all. Nothing Doc Cullen here couldn't patch up." He jerked his chin in the direction of the fair-haired man, who nodded to me.

I stretched a hand toward him. "Emmett McCarty, sir."

The doctor took my hand in a grip as strong as mine.

"Carlisle Cullen. Doc Cullen if you prefer. My wife and I live in the next farm up the road, and Alice and Bella knew I'd take care of your friend here without a fuss. They're like daughters to us, and I'm indebted to him for saving them."

A look of understanding passed between Jas and the doctor, and I knew our secret was safe.

"I found them there yesterday when I arrived with Edward," Rosalie said softly. "We brought Carlisle and Esme a little more than they bargained for, but it's alright now it seems."

"I'm grateful to you and to your wife, Doc," I said to the good doctor. "And I sure would like to see Top, if that'd be alright." The doctor nodded, and I breathed another sigh of relief. Top must have fared well enough if I was to be allowed to see him.

"But I'm a might puzzled," I went on, looking now to Jasper. "What's happened to this Yankee that stabbed you?"

No one spoke, and the quiet seemed to stretch on for minutes. I was momentarily grateful to be outside; had we been in the house the silence would have been so loud it would have driven us out into the air. Jasper's eyes never left the dirt under his feet, and in that moment I knew.

"What did you do with the body, Jasper?" I whispered.

"That's why I came down here, Sergeant," Doc Cullen spoke, I thought perhaps so Jasper wouldn't have to. "With both Jasper and Edward being wounded, I thought perhaps some assistance might be required. You needn't worry. We've taken care of it."

I looked at the doctor for a long moment. Jasper had killed a Yankee. And though it was in self-defense, and he likely needed killing, I couldn't help but wonder if we could trust this man with all our secrets. He was a northerner, and no matter how we might have wished differently, we were not. The penalty for killing a Yankee soldier was probably mighty high. In fact I'd have wagered it made hanging a sure thing. Now this man knew, and he'd helped Jasper. Would he turn on us if he had need though?

As though reading my thoughts, Rosalie moved to my side, making almost no sound. She placed a hand at my elbow and spoke in a whisper into my ear.

"It's alright, Emmett," she said. "We needed his help, but Carlisle and Esme are as close as we have to family out here. They'll keep their word."

I continued looking at Doc Cullen for a minute longer, then finally nodded, breathing out a sigh.

"My thanks, Doc," I said, and he smiled. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to see Top."

Bella came forward then and led me into the house. Only Rosalie followed.

Top was propped up in the front parlor room, legs up on a chair across from the one he sat in. He looked so different from the last time I'd seen him, I almost had to remind myself he'd been hurt.

"Em!" His voice was strong too, something I wasn't expecting. I grinned in response to his greeting smile, but I could feel myself shaking. This was more than I'd dared hope for when I left him in Rosalie's hands, and I wasn't certain I could let myself believe he was awake and speaking yet. But I couldn't let him see that.

"Damn, Top. If I'd known this," I gestured around at the chair and the tray of mostly-eaten food that sat discarded at his side, "was what came of a little stick in the leg and a bump on the head, I'd have found a way to get them for myself long ago!"

I walked over to the small chair next to his and sat, putting a hand on his shoulder as I did, and both our grins faded.

"I'm alright, cousin," he said quietly. "You saved me, you know. You and Rosalie saved me by bringing me here."

I felt my eyes fill with tears. I didn't know if it was relief or pain that brought them on. That he lived after our escape was nearly a miracle. I'd heard no one that crossed the wall to the Union side had come back alive; the only men in gray to come back over that wall by everyone's accounts would come on the carts they used to transport the dead to the mass graves that were dug at every major engagement. I hadn't told anyone we'd breached the wall, for I didn't want to have to explain Top's absence. So his survival was more than I'd thought possible, but to see him looking so healthy just a day after I thought I'd lost him was both wonderful and terrible all at once.

I was so tired. So tired of death and blood and pain, and here was my cousin, my kind-hearted, too-good-for-this-war cousin, thanking me for dragging him out of it so I could drag him back into it again. I looked up at Bella, who stood guard at his other side like a sentry in front of a general's quarters. Not a week gone, I'd have bet he would have preferred to have died on that field, and not a week gone, she thought maybe she'd never know love again.

And now there was such hope and joy in both their eyes, maybe even the beginnings of real love, and I wished he could stay here and see what might come of it.

But desertion was still punishable by death, and one disappearance could be explained away by the battle, but not both.

"Can you walk, cousin?" I asked, my voice as quiet as his. His eyes grew just a little large for a moment as he figured out what I was asking, but then he nodded.

"I can walk well enough. Doc said mostly I was weak from all the blood I lost, but Bella's been feeding me so well since we got back here last night I'm pretty sure all that weakness is long gone." He smiled up at her, and she back at him, but her brow was knit where it wasn't before, and I knew she understood what I'd meant as well as Top did.

One glance at Rosalie confirmed that she too knew what I meant. Her mouth was curved down in a frown, and I wanted nothing more than to go to her and smooth her beautiful face back to a smile. But my duty to my family came first, and I couldn't leave Top here to be found by the Army for deserting.

"It's over, Top. We've lost the battle, and maybe with it the war." He looked as though he was about to protest, but I cut him off. "I'm not sure as how I care anymore either, so save your breath. All I know is our side's high-tailing it for home, and if we're not with 'em, the other side'll find us here. And after the last few days, they'll be none too sympathetic when they do."

"Emmett," Bella's voice was stern as she spoke my name, almost severe. I gulped before I looked back up at her. "Edward's too weak to move, to march! You must be crazy to think he could-"

I cut her off.

"Bella, I'm sorry. It isn't what any of us wants. But men march with worse than he's got, and with no fine food or real doctor to speed them along to get well."

I turned my attention back to my cousin, whose face was shifting between anger and resignation. I sighed.

"Damnit Edward," I said tiredly. "You know I don't want this either. I wish this damn war was done with. I wish we'd never joined up to begin with. I wish we were still home with our folks. But we're not. And the Army is moving today, at least as long as the Union doesn't decide to finish it off. They're coming back this way, maybe right down that road." I jerked my head in the direction of the door. "We put everyone in danger by staying. You know it as well as I do."

He stubbornly refused to acknowledge what I said, continuing to stare at me, jaw set.

I slumped in my seat, putting my head in my hands. I meant what I said; this wasn't what I wanted. I couldn't bring myself to look at Rosalie, or to speak to her, for fear I'd tell her everything that was in my heart. For fear I'd throw myself at her feet and her mercy in the hope that someday she might care just a little for me.

Meeting Rosalie had altered the way I'd feel about women for the rest of my life. I knew it from the moment she first spoke to me.

I'd met my share of women, kind women, smart women, strong women, delicate women. I'd courted a few and kissed a few of those. But I'd never met a woman that was like me, that understood me, but Rosalie was and did. She would understand what I was saying now, just as she understood how important it was for me to get Top to safety. Just as I'd understood that she needed to open Bella's locket to protect her friend from pain. We were the same, she and I, and now I had to leave her.

I rubbed my face once, then looked back up at Edward.

"We're going Top, and that's all there is to it. The Army marches this evening if I heard right. We'll have to find a way to slip into ranks when they come through this way."

He still didn't speak, but I saw some of the anger go out of his eyes as he shifted them from me to Bella; he reached up to take Bella's hand, and she sat at the edge of his chair, not breaking his gaze. Their foreheads were so close they nearly touched as she leaned into him, and they spoke in furtive whispers, hands clasped.

I sighed and stood, leaving them to enjoy the moments they had left. I hung my head as I walked by Rosalie, who still hadn't spoken.

I was nearly to the door when I heard her whisper my name and I turned back to look at her. Her face was twisted with sadness, tears falling from her eyes. Each tear was like a hammer blow to my chest, and I cringed, but I didn't look away. Her eyes searched mine, darting back and forth.

When I could take it no longer, when I felt tears of my own start to well up in my eyes, tears I would not let her see me shed, I whispered two words just as softly as she had spoken.

"I'm sorry."

Then I turned and walked out the door into the sunlit yard before my tears could betray my pain.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **We're almost through; only one chapter left after this. As always, thank you just doesn't seem like enough. You all humble me.

**averysubtlegift** cleans up my messes and gives me the courage to keep this up.

All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer, no copyright infringement intended. The events in southern Pennsylvania in July, 1863 and the stories of the men who fought there belong to the ages.

* * *

**Edward**

_July 4, 1863_

The sun was still high in the afternoon sky, but it felt as though darkness had descended on the parlor as Emmett stalked back out the door and into the yard. Rosalie was still as a stone, her eyes trained on the closed door. Bella's fingers dug almost painfully into the flesh of my arm as she perched next to me in my chair, her head bowed.

Emmett was right of course; where duty and honor and responsibility were concerned, Emmett was nearly always right. The risk to everyone was too great to stay one minute longer than necessary.

We were all silent for a time. My eyes drifted between Bella, whose gaze was cast firmly at the floor, and Rosalie's still figure. Rosalie's eyes bore into the doorway through which Emmett had just departed.. Her inner turmoil was almost palpable; she knew as well as we did that we had to go, but watching her with Emmett, it was clear that his dedication to his duty and his need to protect those he cared for pained her as much as it did him.

Eventually she came out of her daze and turned abruptly to look at Bella and me. I could feel heat from Bella's body radiating into my side and suddenly realized how close she sat. What surprised me even more than her nearness was how natural it felt to have her there. I was certain that if any other woman sat so close to me, I'd have been reduced to a stammering fool, but Bella's closeness seemed different somehow.

Rosalie appraised the two of us for a moment, seeming to weight the sight before her for a moment, then nodded to herself. She set her face determinedly and spoke.

"Bella," she said, her voice soft but firm, showing not a hint of the quiver that had betrayed her a moment before to Emmett. Bella peeled her eyes from the floor to look up at her.

"Help Edward get walking," Rosalie went on, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "He'll need to test his wound properly, and we should see if he needs new dressings before they set off."

Her words were almost clipped now, and efficient, taking on the tone of a nurse or doctor treating a patient rather than a woman addressing her friend amidst chaos and sorrow. I quite appreciated the detachment though; it was a welcome combatant against the pall of sadness hanging over the parlor since Emmett announced we'd be leaving. It wasn't much different from fighting, truth be told. For all that I hated the blood and the terror, sometimes it was a welcome break from the overwhelming sense of loss that we survivors couldn't help but feel as we watched our friends and brothers shot down and killed before their lives even really had a chance to begin.

Bella, it seemed, didn't share my gratitude. Her eyes widened at Rosalie's order, first in surprise, then as her cheeks reddened, in disbelief. She gripped my arm even tighter. I winced, but said nothing.

"How dare you agree to this?" Bella's voice was incredulous as she gaped at the tall, fair-haired woman before her. "Can't _anyone_ see how hurt he is? How can any of you expect him to march like _this_?"

She practically spat the last words as she pointed to my still-propped-up leg.

"Bella, I-" I began, but Rosalie's raised voice cut me off.

"Bella, I'm sure his wounds seem dire to you, but I can tell you, as I'm _sure_ Edward was about to," she flicked her eyes warningly at me, telling me with a glance that I'd do well to hold my tongue, "that men march with far worse injuries and receive far less care before they're put out to do so."

I nodded in agreement, and not because of Rosalie's silent warning; she was right. I'd lost a great deal of blood, but my wounds themselves, once cleaned and dressed, were far less dire than many I'd seen. Men marched or hobbled on a crutch, one pant leg pinned up where flesh used to be. "Don't need a leg to shoot a gun," one man in our regiment had cheerily stated after his leg was blown near off in a battle.

Others lost an arm, then learned to load the weapons with their teeth and the remaining limb, and were back on the field in the next engagement. A clean stab wound and a blow to the head would barely have warranted medical attention in the face of the horror at Gettysburg. I'd been lucky to get out with just the problem of needing to regain my strength from the blood loss. The wounds themselves had never been all that threatening, I knew that now, but the weakness from the bleeding added to the risk of infection and that had been my real danger.

Bella's face crumpled when she saw my agreement and she broke down in tears, sinking into my shoulder as she mercifully released her talon-like grip on my arm. I put a hand to her hair and let her cry bitter tears into my chest. I looked silently at Rosalie, and she gazed back for a long moment, pain warring with sensibility in her eyes, and meeting resignation and understanding in mine.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. She looked so tired, just like Emmett.

"We haven't much time, Rosalie," I said in a low voice over Bella's quiet sobs. I paused for a moment, considering my next words. My waning sense of propriety warred with my newfound appreciation for life, and living as much of it as a man could, before a bullet or a saber took it all away. Life won out, and I strengthened my tone, urging her out the door from my seat. "Go find him. Seems to me you've both been plenty strong for everyone else long enough. It's about time you two found someone to lean on."

A faint flush crept into her pale skin, but she smiled just a bit and regained a little of her stature through her exhaustion. I bit back my own small smile in realizing I was right to think she wanted to follow Em.

"It just might be at that, _Top_." Her smile turned to a grin and I couldn't help but grin back at her easy use of my nickname, of _Emmett's_ name for me, even as Bella sniffled into my coat. It was high time that my great oaf of a cousin found someone with as big a heart as he had, and I had no doubt that I was looking at that someone. This woman rode into the belly of the beast and tore me out of it. She probably saved my life, saved my mother from heartbreak, and my cousin and Jasper from a lifetime of guilt and pain.

Rosalie turned on her heel and walked purposefully out the door after Em, and the grin lingered on my own face as she left, still smiling.

Bella remained quiet for a long time, so long in fact that I felt stiffness growing in my muscles as we sat, her head against my chest, my arm around her back. I thought perhaps she slept, but her breathing was still ragged, and the front of my shirt showed no signs of drying.

I sighed. I wished I had tears left to shed, but even as my heart felt as though it would collapse in on itself, I was steeling myself with the same resolve I had to muster each time I took the field before a battle. Too much feeling on a battlefield would kill a man. If I let myself feel the pain of this moment, I felt sure it would kill me too, and so the battle armor went up, this time around my own heart.

Finally, after what may have been hours, for the shadows in the room had shifted as the sun shone lower in the sky, Bella looked up at me. She pushed away from my embrace and sat up tall. Her face was pink and mottled, her eyes webbed with redness. She swiped at her eyes and nose with the back of her hand and then closed her eyes while she took a deep breath, then a second and a third.

When her breathing had resumed its normal cadence, she opened her eyes and spoke.

"When Jacob left," she said shakily, barely speaking her dead husband's name above a whisper. I cringed inwardly, the image of a bloody man in a blue coat in my arms floating unbidden through my mind, but I kept my face impassive. It was clear she was struggling to get something out. She took another deep breath and started again.

"When he left, I behaved so badly. I was like a petulant child who didn't want to come in for supper." Bella's eyes were full of a terrible fire, and it was all I could do not to look away. She went on, her voice growing stronger. "I'll spare you the details; I know Alice told you most of it when you were here…before."

She looked at my leg then, and put her hand to her own throat, where, for the first time, I noticed the glint of the locket I'd carried these past few months. My heart clenched. Somehow that little golden oval nestled in the pale hollow of Bella's neck put a chink in that armor I'd erected to save myself from the pain. That damned locket. If I'd never taken it, if I'd never shown it to her…

No.

The pain was a part of us, just as much as every pleasant moment that had passed between us before we discovered our paths had crossed long before Em and Jasper and I snuck into that hayloft. If there was ever to be a future for Bella and me, the knowledge that I'd taken her husband from her would be a part of that future, just as the fact that he'd somehow brought me to her would be.

Bella continued, jerking me out of my attempt to reconcile that terrible day with this one.

"I let him go, Edward. I let him go and there isn't a day that's gone by since when I haven't regretted it. Not a single day. I'd do anything to take back my last day with him and behave the way a wife should, the way a woman in love should." She flushed a little at the last words, and I fidgeted. "I wake each and every morning hoping that day was just a bad dream, that I'll roll over and he'll be there, even if he's dressing to leave again, so I can say the right things and kiss him goodbye."

I searched her face, trying to understand why she was telling me these things. Irrational as it was, I felt jealousy writhing about in the pit of my stomach, and I was sickened by it. Who I was I to begrudge a man the love of his own wife?

"I can't help but wonder, if I'd acted differently, maybe," she gulped, and I could see tears shining in her eyes again. It seemed impossible that she could have any tears left to shed. "Maybe he'd still be alive."

I found myself shaking my head before I could help myself.

"Bella," I said gently, "Jacob fought until the very end. He fought for his last breath, for the strength to give me that." I gestured to the bauble around her neck and she reached for her throat, clutching at the locket. "He was brave and kind and he had only love for you. He wanted nothing more than to get back to you, Bella, never doubt that."

In truth, I had no idea if Jacob had given up, but I felt certain from our time together at our makeshift Christmas celebration that he loved his wife and wanted, as most men in the war did, nothing more than to return home to his sweetheart. In any case, no man that bore ill will toward his love would have gone to the lengths Jacob had to press that locket into my hand as his guts threatened to spill out of his body.

Bella cast her eyes down and resumed the deep breaths she'd forsaken to speak. I knew she was trying to staunch the flow of tears, but I had nothing to offer her by way of consolation. When she looked back up, her face was composed again, and she shifted just the smallest bit closer to me on the chair.

"I won't make the same mistake again, Edward."

I felt my eyes grow wide with surprise until I thought they must be the size of saucers. While it was undeniable that Bella and I shared a connection, the fact that a part of our bond stemmed directly from my hand in her husband's death had left me certain that any hope we had of a courtship would never come to be.

"I know it's sudden, Edward, and I know there's nothing proper about this. I'm sure all the ladies in town would be scandalized to hear this whole conversation." She giggled then, and I couldn't help but smile as well, thinking of the ladies in Providence Forge, and how our proximity and low murmurs would be received by their prying eyes.

"But I'll not see another soldier off to war like a child. If this is your duty, and if, as Emmett says, you really must go, then I shall bear it because I must." She reached out and placed the tip of her first finger under my chin and tipped it up so her eyes bore into mine. I couldn't have escaped the intensity of that gaze if the room burst into flame around us. "And you will go, and you bear it. And you will live. _Because you must._"

I could only nod at her, trying in my own mind to process what I'd just heard. I felt certain that somewhere in there, Bella had said she loved me without ever saying the words. That she was telling me she would see me off to battle the way she should, the way, as she'd put it, a _woman in love_ should.

We stayed there a while longer, not speaking. Her stare never wavered, and as long as her eyes held mine, I remained still. The room grew dark with evening light. I never rose from my chair, and I absently thought of Rosalie's instructions that I should get up and walk, but dismissed them. I could walk. If Bella told me to walk, I would walk. If she told me to run, I would run. If she told me to fly, I would climb to the top of the barn and jump, and if she ordered it so, I felt certain my body would sprout wings and I would take flight.

At some point Jasper and Alice entered the house, followed a short time later by Rosalie and Emmett. Food appeared from somewhere, and we all ate in near silence. I supposed Alice had made it, for she and Jasper would be leaving as well the next day, and their journey would require a sight more in the way of provisions. She'd likely been in the kitchen and the cellar figuring what they could carry and how far it'd get them, and had thought to make a meal for the rest of us in the process.

We sat in pairs apart from the others in the room, each couple murmuring softly, heads so close together in the darkness that the candlelight barely showed between one figure and another. Although it seemed few words were spoken among any of us, those that were seemed important, each exchange that broke the silence drawing a smile or a laugh, or sometimes the brush of a hand across the other's cheek or the closing of the distance between two foreheads until they rested against one another.

Bella and I spoke almost not at all. It was as though everything that needed to be said had been, and we sat companionably, gazing at one another as if memorizing every detail.

Too soon, dawn stole into the room, casting rude shadows of her own to bring an end to the peace and stillness and safety of the parlor.

As if a spell had been broken, we all began to rise reluctantly, the silence carrying on into our departure preparations. Jasper and Alice, as I had predicted, had amassed a pile of food and clothing and blankets in the kitchen, and Jasper began stuffing them into bags to tie to the mare. Rosalie had insisted they take the horse, that she could get by without one, or borrow one from Doc Cullen if the need arose, but that they'd never make it west without a pack animal, much less something to carry them when they could no longer carry themselves.

Finally, when we'd all eaten and the mare was packed, Rosalie saw to changing the dressings on my wounds. She pronounced them healing well already, and nodded satisfactorily to herself as she finished the dressing.

When at last there were no more tasks to tend to, we stood in the dirt outside the door.

Emmett, always the strong one, broke the silence first, advancing on Jasper and Alice.

"You two take care and watch out for soldiers, hear?" His voice was commanding, but Jas and I could both hear the waver in it. Jasper nodded. Em looked at Alice. "Doc Cullen said he'd find a way to send word to us about where you settle if you'll get a letter to him. You'll do that for us, right Alice?"

Alice nodded and smiled reassuringly. Her face was so calm and peaceful it was as though she was in a dream. Jasper's face almost mirrored hers, although his brow creased as he stepped forward to once again clasp Emmett's hand. The two men, my best friends, my brothers in arms, looked at each other for a long moment, then embraced. Emmett bent to hug Alice then, speaking softly in her ear. As I watched tears spring into her eyes, I could only guess he'd passed the mantle of Jasper's always-changing family onto her.

I took that moment to look to Jasper myself, the man I'd called brother since he'd come to stay so long ago. He smiled.

"Tell your mother I'm fine. I wouldn't want her to worry. We'll get word to you as soon as it's safe." Jasper pulled me into a fierce embrace. "And quit sticking your neck out, Top. You've something to live for now, if I'm not mistaken, and you'll have to take more care until this mess gets straightened out."

I nodded, at a loss for words. I'd said goodbye to Jasper once in the span of three days time, and nearly died two days later. This time, it was he who went off for adventure, while I went back to what I knew and just tried to stay alive.

I turned to Alice as Bella stepped forward to kiss Jasper on the cheek.

"I'll take care of him Edward, you needn't worry. It'll be alright, I already know it." And she smiled. For someone so small, Alice had more presence than anyone I'd ever met, and I suddenly felt sure she was right, and that Jasper would be fine. Alice stood up on tiptoe and kissed my cheek, then straightened my collar.

She turned to Bella and they began a teary goodbye, joined by Rosalie. Promises to write were echoed among all three, and Alice made Rosalie promise to tell their mother only once she and Jasper were far enough away that they couldn't be followed. Rosalie, laughing through her tears, jokingly told Alice that by the time post reached Washington and her mother read the news and managed to get back up to Chambersburg, she and Jasper would likely have set up shop and had a passel of children. This brought a guffaw from Em and blushes from Jasper and Alice.

Emmett, Rosalie, Bella and I watched the pair of them walk away, north toward Doc Cullen's house until they disappeared over a rise in the road.

We turned to one another then, and Emmett moved to Bella at the same time I took a step toward Rosalie.

"I can't thank you for what you did," I said quietly to the statuesque woman. She bore a stoic expression. "I can never repay your bravery or your kindness."

She put her hand out and I took it in both of mine.

"I believe there is something you can do after all," she said, speaking to me but looking at Emmett. "You keep yourself alive, Edward, if for nothing else but to keep him alive. You give him a reason not to be a hero and go off and do something stupid, you hear?"

I nodded, understanding her request. As long as I stayed alive and in one piece next to my cousin on the battlefield, he'd have a reason to stay alive and in one piece next to me.

"I believe I'll do that," I said. "I'm not ready to die just yet myself, having had a go of it yesterday. Didn't suit me." She smiled at my weak attempt at swagger and squeezed my hand.

And then there was only Bella.

Emmett and Rosalie walked a few steps down the path, either to give us a bit of privacy or to get a little of their own. Em pressed his forehead into hers and spoke softly, and I smiled for a moment at the picture they made.

Bella reached up around her own neck and unfastened the chain holding the locket around her neck. She kissed the small gold oval and closed her eyes for a moment, then held it out to me. I stared at it glistening in her palm.

"I want you to take this," she said. I looked at her and shook my head, but she reached down for the hand that hung at my side and pressed it into my palm.

"Bella, I can't take this," I protested. "This is all you have left of…" I trailed off, still unable to utter Jacob's name.

"It brought you here, Edward, I'm sure if it. It brought you to me, and perhaps if you keep it, it will bring you back." She looked up into my eyes, stepping closer and putting both her hands into mine. I held them tightly, clutching them to my chest.

"Remember?" She asked. "We'll bear this. And we'll live through it. And you _will_ come back." She whispered the last as an order, more fierce than any general leading any charge I'd ever heard.

"I remember," I whispered back. "I'll come back, Bella. I'll bear it, and I'll live, and I'll come back. I promise." I pressed her fingers to my lips, both our eyes shining with tears.

She flung her arms around my neck and buried her head in my shoulder for a moment. I held her so tightly I feared I might crush the air from her lungs, but I couldn't bring myself to loosen my grip. I was memorizing the feel of her body against mine, imprinting the scent of her hair and her skin into my memory.

Finally I felt her grip loosen and I gently set her back to her feet, realizing I'd lifted her from the ground with my embrace. She reached up, placing one hand on either side of my face and pulled my lips down to meet hers. It wasn't the frantic kiss of three days past, but a sweet, soft, gentle goodbye. It held the promise of a thousand kisses to come if I could just get back here, and I resolved then, my mouth against hers, that I would do everything in my power to do just that.

"Take care of yourself," she said quietly when she pulled away. "And hurry back."

"I'll see you soon, Bella," I said just as quietly, understanding she didn't want to utter the word 'goodbye' and sharing in that desire. We had too much future ahead of us for goodbye.

She lingered for a moment, my fingers in hers as she pulled away. Then she moved to Rosalie's side, where Em had just stepped back and looked at me expectantly, but with the face of a man whose own heart had just been twisted into knots.

I walked toward him, my belongings on my back. When I reached his side, I stopped, and we both turned to face Bella and Rosalie one last time. No words were exchanged, but we said more in those last looks than could be written in a lifetime of books.

"Time to go, Top," Em said so softly I wondered if he'd really spoken at all.

And with that, I broke from Bella's gaze and turned, limping up the path. My cousin fell into step beside me, letting me set the pace.

I only turned back once when we reached the main road, looking over my shoulder at the two women standing in the morning sunlight, unmoving. Then I took a deep breath, which I heard Em echo at my side, and I turned up the road in the direction we knew we'd find the Army and began the longest walk of my life.


	20. Chapter 20

All things Twilight and the characters therein belong to Stephenie Meyer, no copyright infringement intended. The events of the Civil War and the battlefield anecdotes contained below belong to the ages.

* * *

**Edward**

_May 28, 1865_

"Damn, Top, do you ever get the feeling we'll be walking forever?" Em growled, kicking at the dirt under the worn toe of his boot.

I didn't even bother to break stride as I looked over at him from where my eyes had been trained on the rolling hills ahead. My cousin's tone betrayed his half-hearted attempt to look downtrodden, and I laughed as a grin broke through his sun-darkened face. A real laugh, one that started in my gut and shook my whole body as I let it out, and Em laughed with me.

It felt so damned good to laugh. I felt like I hadn't had a real laugh in four years, and then the day the whole war came crashing down upon us, all I wanted to do was laugh. That day and every day after. Laugh at the weight that was lifted from my shoulders. Laugh because for all the pain I'd been through, for all the wounds I'd carry for the rest of my days, for all the blood I'd shed, there would be no more dealt at the hands of another of my countrymen. Laugh because finally, I could go home.

"We _have_ been walking forever Em," I said lightly. "Or at least for four years, and that's damn near forever at our age, isn't it?"

He nodded, still chuckling as we trudged on. We were walking still, and despite the weight of battle being lifted from us at long last, we were bone-weary. Laughter was just about all that kept us moving. Well, that and the promise of home and maybe, just maybe, a normal life.

After we left Bella's farm that hazy day in July two years ago, our lives became a long string of attempts to stay alive in battle with weeks of unrest and struggle for survival in camp in between. Gettysburg was the beginning of the end; we just didn't want to own up to it for two more years.

What we didn't know that day I lay bleeding in the dirt in Pennsylvania was that the new general the North sent out west, General Grant, had seized Vicksburg, taking control of the mighty Mississippi. We never won it back. Not long after that we learned that this same general, whose strategy, it seemed, was to lose what was necessary, just lose less than the South, led the Union in Tennessee to beat our forces at Chickamauga and Chattanooga. I'd never heard of these strange-sounding places before, but they were on the tongue of every Southern man before 1863 came to a close.

The 4th of July began our downfall in the west, but also in the east where we slunk away from Gettysburg with our tails betwixt our legs. And the irony of the date was lost on no man fighting for the Confederacy. Shortly after we suffered defeat in both fronts, it became evident that the countries in Europe that had been waiting to pick a dog in the fight, the countries ol' Jeff Davis had counted on to come in and save us, would side with the Union or withdraw their interest altogether.

The South would perish alone. It would just take two long, bloody years to give up the ghost.

In November, Mr. Lincoln went to Gettysburg and delivered a speech so short we heard the camera man couldn't even snap a picture before he was on his way to sit back down. But it was like a rallying cry for the Union, even as it was a mourning song for us all. The cemetery at that awful place was to be dedicated, consecrated ground for all time.

I'd wondered idly if the men from our side that fell there would be honored, or if they'd be ripped from the ground and cast away so as not to spoil the place. Folks were funny about dead men. They expected, even in death, a man would respect the boundaries of his own side. But any one of us that saw all that death knew better. A man fell where he fell, and in death, we stopped fighting for one side or the other. Then all that was left was to fight for our souls, if any of us had one left to fight for.

When we weren't fighting, we were starving, or freezing, or soaked. When Europe turned away from the South, any hope of replenishing supplies and trade for goods turned away with it. Turned out cotton and tobacco weren't worth a damn thing to a hungry man, and our crops were devastated by the constant trample of soldiers' feet anyway. What the Union didn't burn in attack, the Confederacy burned in an effort to deprive the occupying forces.

More men were sick than well, and the stoutest of men began to look gaunt before too long. Emmett and I made do somehow, but I couldn't remember what it felt like not to be hungry. The last time I wasn't hungry was at Bella's farm. Before long, our own camps were as dangerous as the battlefields, with men dying of hunger and disease and infection in numbers that seemed to match what we lost in an engagement.

Any question about the condition of our souls was erased after what we saw and what we did in '64. If I stood at the Pearly Gates tomorrow, I felt certain St. Peter would turn me away, and I'd march off with thousands of other boys in blue and gray to find a place where souls held less bearing, for we would have not a one amongst us.

In May, we found ourselves back in familiar territory. Just a stone's throw from Providence Forge, and I damn near deserted on the spot when the orders came to march into the woods surrounding Chancellorsville. We trampled over the exposed bones of the dead from the last time we'd met here, and every night in my sleep I dreamed that those bones belonged to Bella's husband. Every single set of bones came to life in my nightmares; hundreds of faces reaching out to me, begging me to find his wife, clawing at his gaping wound in agony, staring at me through empty sockets.

We fought there for days, first in the Battle of the Wilderness, which was so god-awful I felt sure Satan himself would have run from the place, then at Spotsylvania, then at Cold Harbor. In a month's time the two armies flanked and maneuvered all around Richmond. This was our last desperate hope, although I'd lost most of the desperation to save the Confederacy on a sunny day in July in Pennsylvania, when I met a girl hanging out her wash.

We spent the rest of 1864 and the first three months of 1865 entrenched in Petersburg, trying to stave off the Union siege. After a time, it became clear that Grant was happy to let us starve, and starve we did. We starved and froze, we got sick, and many of us died.

Many of _them_ died too; more than us, or so we heard. Malaria and dysentery and typhoid slithered through our camps like snakes in the grass in the dead of summer.

Emmett and I didn't come out of the whole mess unscathed either. I took shrapnel to the same leg that was injured at Gettysburg, and the surgeons didn't have much luck getting it out. I'd limp for the rest of my life, it seemed, come hell or high water.

Em was shot twice, surviving both wounds with remarkably good spirits considering the gravity of their location. He took a ball through the chest just below his collarbone in the Wilderness, and the doctors said he was lucky the bone wasn't splintered clean through. He no more'n had that mess patched up and he took another bullet through the flesh in the back of his arm. On the same side, mind, which Em thought to be mighty serendipitous.

"I can shoot one-handed, Top," he said congenially as the surgeons worked over his second wound. For some reason, perhaps from all his years in the smithy, Em had a tolerance for pain unrivaled by anyone I'd ever met. He prided himself on it, and it served him well in the war. "If this damn thing'd gone through the other arm, how the hell would I hold a gun?"

I'd stared at him in disbelief, but then, much like now, I'd been unable not to laugh when he cracked a smile. It had been thinner, laced with discomfort as the doctor dug around in his flesh for the ball, but a smile at any rate.

Around the same time my nightmares from our return to the killing grounds near Chancellorsville gave way to my usual, only slightly less terrifying dreams, I received a letter from my mother that sunk my spirits deeper than I'd thought possible. Even Em was sobered at her words, though he tried hard not to be ruffled for my sake.

_My dear son, _it said.

_It is my dearest hope that this letter finds you as well as can be expected, and that you are healthy and staying out of harm's way as best you can. We have not had word from you in some months, but I hold fast to the belief that you are well, and that you will find your way clear of the trials that face you._

_You will no doubt be saddened to know of the recent fate of your boyhood home; many of the buildings in town caught fire recently, and I'm sorry to say the house, as well as the school and part of the church have burned. Your father and I are safe, but we've decided to leave Providence Forge and return __**home**__, where we hope you might find us once better days again befall the country._

_Please tell your cousin that the McCartys' house survived, but his family has left town with us. They have tried to write as well, but we've had difficulty finding you boys. Should you receive this letter, please give Emmett their love and ours, and assure him that they are as well as we, and as well as can be expected in these trying times. _

_We were a bit puzzled to have received a letter recently from a gentleman by the name of Doctor Cullen. His letter bore no address, but it surely came from the North. He wished to express his admiration for you, my son, and your cousin, and to pass along his assurances that, and I quote, "your acquaintances are still quite well." I'm sure I don't know what he meant, but he insisted I pass on the message. _

_He also said, and it seems clear we have much to discuss when we next see one another my dear boy, that a certain young pair had made their way to Denver, and had set up a supply shop and boarding house for miners. I believe I do know just what he meant in that case, and whoever he is, I'm very grateful for the news, as I'm certain you will be._

_I've no idea if this letter will reach you, my darling son, but know that I pray every night for your safe return and for the safe return of all the sons who fight by your side. Your father sends his love and his own wishes for your speedy return. _

_Your loving mother,_

_Elizabeth_

I'd puzzled myself over so much of her letter, although the meaning behind the parts that caused her such confusion was perfectly clear to me. Our "acquaintances" had to be Bella and Rosalie, and Emmett and I breathed a collective sigh of relief to hear of their continued safety and well-being. My heart flip-flopped in my chest that the doc saw fit to mention them; surely that meant we still held some amount of favor despite the time and distance and all the ugliness going on in our midst? Emmett didn't say much, but I knew from his silence he was having similar thoughts about the fair Rosalie.

And the mention of the young pair was very obviously a covert reference to Jasper and Alice, and the doc must have been concerned that someone might link Jasper's desertion with his name if the letter fell into the wrong hands.

A kind sentiment, and I silently thanked Doc Cullen, but an unnecessary precaution. Men deserted in droves these days, and besides, everyone believed Jasper had fallen at Gettysburg, or that he'd ended up at Johnson's Island, the prison camp off the shores of some lake in Ohio. It'd been surprisingly easy to keep Jasper's secret, but news that he and Alice had safely reached the western territories was welcome. Em and I had a good laugh at the idea of Jasper settled down running a boardinghouse and supply shop, but we had the sense that if Alice thought it a good plan, Jasper would go along.

That girl held more ferocity in one of her small fingers than whole regiments of fighting men, and I'd have been hard-pressed to bet against her if she took on General Lee himself.

My puzzlement came at her emphasis on the word "_**home.**_" Providence Forge had always been my home, mine and Emmett's. But perhaps they'd left the Confederacy entirely, made their way across the border and back into the Union to Pennsylvania? Or, knowing Mother and Father, perhaps they'd stopped just over the border and offered their services in some town that might have lost its teacher to the war.

Em and I wondered over it, thinking surely they must have returned north; otherwise she'd have had no need to be so cryptic. If the letter had been intercepted, Mother would have worried how it might have looked that she was sending a letter to her son in the Confederate Army from her new home in the Union. And perhaps she was right to worry. Folks had been watched on suspicion of spying for less.

And how had Doc Cullen found my parents? That was a mystery, and one neither Em nor I could lend a clue to solve. He must have been very well-connected to be able to safely send a message into the South and have it reach its intended recipient. Perhaps he was helping my parents get settled in the North…? But no, I had considered that possibility countless times and let it drop each time. It would be too much to dare dream of.

Our jubilation over the safety of our friends, both new and old was quickly tamped down by the sobering realization that we had no home to return to, no family to welcome us. At least not where we expected they would be, and who could tell if another letter would reach us before we ran afoul of the Union Army one time too many and this mess finally came to an end.

We had plenty of time to puzzle over what we'd do while we sat idly at Petersburg for month after agonizing month. Could we go back to Providence Forge? Was there anything left to go back to? Our families were gone, but it was the only home Em or I had ever known.

Could we find our folks? Would my mother find a way to get another letter to us even after the Army disbanded?

And in the back of my mind, I kept asking the most important question of all: could I go back to Bella?

I'd spent the past two years staying alive because she'd begged me to; I couldn't help but think there'd been a reason. But she'd had two long years to think on how her Jacob died at my hand, and perhaps she'd turn on me if I returned. We soldiers clung to every memory, every touch, every word, every kiss, for if we didn't, how could we rise and face day after bloody day? But she had Rosalie, and Doc Cullen and his wife, and perhaps her father, so who was to say she thought of me at all? Maybe I was nothing more than a boy she kissed and nursed back to health when the armies came to her back yard.

But I held out hope, for without hope, what else was there during the endless days and nights of a siege?

After nearly a year, General Grant finally broke through, and we were forced to abandon our defense of Richmond at last. Almost overnight on April 2, Richmond became a burned-out shell, the buildings a mirror of their inhabitants, many of whom stood in the street, mouths agape, watching us clear out.

A few shook fists, cursed us for cowards, but most were quiet, some with tear-streaked faces as they realized what many of us were coming to see: the war was nearly over. The rest was just a last-ditch effort to hold onto an idea, a cause that began to die with the first casualty four years before and died a little more with every southern boy whose crumpled body lined some field in his home state.

The rows at Five Forks and Appomattox were little more than formality, despite the unnecessary dead. Bodies piled up, and we lost nearly 8,000 men to death or capture. We fought like men possessed, realizing this was our swan song. Men battered one another with fists, with butts of rifles, and I saw more than one set of scrabblers screaming and spitting blood from wounds inflicted by their teeth.

And then, as quickly as it began, it ended. The Old Man walked proudly with tears in his eyes into some poor farmer's parlor, and when he came back out a bit later, his shoulders stooped only a little, but he held his head high as he traversed our ranks. I heard later that the fellow whose parlor saw the end of the Army of Northern Virginia had also had the unfortunate position of owning one of the farms we trampled so soundly in the first battle at Manassas. He'd left after the battle, seeking comfort in a place he thought sure would be far-removed from the horrors of war after all he'd seen that long-ago day in 1861.

Talk about rotten luck.

On April 12,we stood quietly in parade-like rows in Appomattox Courthouse as the terms of formal surrender were read outacross the regiments. We could keep our belongings, horses if we had them, and anything else we had to our names, with the exception of our arms and any regimental regalia. I watched more than one colorbearer blanch at the notion that he'd have to give up the banner he'd carried so bravely into one battle after another, but it wasn't to be helped.

In a show of mercy, General Grant arranged for several weeks' rations to be brought in to feed the whole of the Army, and I can't say a man among us wasn't grateful, even if he never said so.

As we stood there, awaiting our turn to surrender our arms, I heard a young man's voice from the line next to ours that caused me to turn my head and face the procession ahead laying down rifles and pistols in stacks. It was a Mississippi regiment, and the officer's voice was smooth and slow as molasses.

"Well I'll be Goddamned," he drawled melodically, "If that ain't a sight to bring a tear to a man's eye, I don't know what is." The look on his face as he stared toward the Union soldiers accepting our surrender made it clear he hadn't meant for his musings to be spoken aloud, but I looked nonetheless.

On horseback, I saw a straight-backed man with spectacles on his face. His hair and moustache were fair, and his skin was tanned like every other man around. He sat his horse proudly, but his eyes were weary and a bit pinched, betraying what I imagined was discomfort from a wound we couldn't see.

But the officer on horseback in the fine blue coat wasn't what the man next to me was staring at; rather he stared at what the officer commanded. Rows of men in blue stood with their muskets and rifles at their shoulders in salute as downtrodden men in gray streamed by.

I felt my throat close up and my eyes water, and felt no shame as a tear escaped down my cheek.

This was what it had come to, and this fine officer, who stood for the side that had trounced us, who had every right, if he wished it, to look upon us with the disdain of a father whose children have run afoul of his rules, ordered his men into salute to their brethren.

I thought sure my heart would burst, for never in my years had I witnessed such compassion.

A murmur went through the ranks, and someone near the young officer said, "Why Sergeant Foote, that's Colonel Chamberlain." The officer's eyes widened a moment in surprise, but then he nodded.

"That figures," he said to the man who'd addressed him. "Man capable of the ordering a bayonet charge would find it in his heart to honor the men he faced."

And then our regiment began to move, and the men from Mississippi faded from earshot.

When it was all over, we milled about, confusion beginning to dawn on the faces of the southerners. What now?

Em and I were no different, and we stared at one another for a long time before nodding silently in almost the same instant.

There was only one place to go, but how would this work now? Could we go anywhere? Would the lines that were so solidly drawn for the past four years just dissolve?

I approached a clump of men in blue, not noticing at first that they wore the decoration of officers.

"Begging your pardon, Billy," I said to one of the men closest to me. He turned and looked at me questioningly, but nodded, so I went on. "Well, my cousin and I," I jerked my chin at Emmett, who stood a pace behind me. "We were wondering if, well…" I trailed off, unable to form the words.

One of the other men standing in the group spoke up with a voice so commanding, yet so calm I was forced to look his direction. It was Colonel Chamberlain. Or, it appeared, General Chamberlain now from the look of his decoration. My eyes widened and I stood as straight as I could. This man was a war hero, revered by his own, but so respected even by his enemy that his name was familiar to every man who'd fought against his men and lived to tell about it.

His accent was funny, almost foreign, and I remembered he was from Maine. Being from Maine, to a southern country boy like me, was about like being from China. I knew people lived there, so someone had to be from there, but I never imagined I'd know any of them.

"Go on, soldier," he said kindly, so I gulped and tried again.

"Well sir, we were just wondering. It seems our folks have returned north. You see, their people were from there, and they only moved to Virginia before we were born, sir, and well, I sure would like to see my mother, sir." I broke off again, twisting my hands around my cap, which I had removed when I realized I was addressing an officer.

"And you'd like to go find them, is that it soldier?" The general asked me, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. I felt sure I looked quite the bumpkin, but remembered the stories of his kindness and thought better of my own assessment of myself.

I nodded. "Yes sir."

"Well, soldier, it seems to me there's nothing stopping you. We're all Americans again, remember? This is your country too, why should you not venture wherever you wish within its borders?"

My eyes widened further and my jaw moved, but no sound would come from my lips as tears threatened to burst forth from my eyes yet again. Could it be this simple? Was this man, this brave hero of the Union truly offering me such swift absolution? For four years I'd stood opposite men just like him, firing round after round into their bodies, praying for their demise to save my own life. And he stood before me and offered me return to the land he'd fought to protect with no malice in his words.

I found myself drawing up to my full height, puffing out my chest and raising my arm in salute to my forehead.

"Yes sir, General," I said, my voice quavering, but strong. "Thank you, sir." I stood in salute for a moment longer, and was about to break stance when he drew himself up and matched my posture, offering a salute of his own.

A solitary tear broke free then, and I snapped my arm back to my side and bowed my head to this man before walking away. It was, and would be for the rest of my life, I knew, an honor to have been in his presence on this day.

Emmett and I walked away from their gathering silently, and we just kept on walking. For days we trudged along, sometimes with other soldiers, sometimes alone. We shed our gray coats the first chance we got so as not to incur hostility from passersby, and we made our way north.

Some days we spoke not at all, others we spoke with the ease of boys. I knew Emmett shared my worry about what we would find when we got to where we were going. I had no trade to speak of, and I'd never been much of a farmer since we grew up in town. In truth, I'd never lived outside my parents' home until we joined up. Suddenly instead of laughing at Jasper and his shop and boardinghouse, I found myself envying him.

How would we live when we got to the end of our road? Would we be welcome? Would it ever be the same?

And so, even as Em joked that we'd been walking forever, I felt a pit in my gut, for we were near. I knew this land; I'd been here before.

We crested the last hill, and the neat brick house stood out in the late spring sun. I felt my legs start to wobble, and heard Em draw a sharp breath.

Two women, one dark and one fair, stood in the yard hanging wash on the lines.

The increasing cadence of our footsteps was the only sound between us, until suddenly, finally, we stood at the gate to the road up to the house. In the time it'd taken for us to make it down the road, our presence had been detected by the ladies in the yard, and they stood midway down the road clasping each other's hands.

Our eyes locked for the longest moment, and in that moment my mind whirled with every word we'd ever spoken, searching for some clue that coming here hadn't been a mistake.

We moved toward each other as we stared, Em and I filthy, exhausted, broken, while they were beautiful and clean; our salvation and redemption in the flesh, if only they saw it that way too.

Finally we stood face-to-face, so close I could see her shoulders rise and fall with breath, rapid like mine. I was so terrified I felt sure I'd cry. Her silence was like a knife to my gut, and I felt sure she would turn me away. I stopped breathing, vowing not to draw another breath until she spoke. I felt the errant thought go through my head that if she sent me away, I never wanted to breathe again.

Her eyes bore into mine, searching, probing, reaching into the depths of me.

When she broke her silence, it was like the swell of the music of God's own angels, and the smile that crossed her face set to healing every wound I'd suffered, every pain I'd felt.

She held out her hand and spoke the sweetest words I thought I'd ever hear for the rest of my life.

"Welcome home, Edward."

* * *

**A/N:** So there you have it. In truth, the story as I meant to tell it ended last chapter. It was a life-changing three or four days for millions on both sides of the war, and I wanted to tell just one of those stories.

A couple of notes about the chapter above: Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, who was referenced in the Gettysburg chapters and again above was a great war hero on the Union side, but he was also one of the most compassionate officers whose stories have been preserved. The conversation above, of course, is fiction, but the spirit of it is couched in fact. I hope I've done him justice, he is an inspiration.

There may also have been a soldier by the last name of Foote in one of the Mississippi regiments at Appomattox; I didn't read all of the rosters. But this is a tribute to one of the greatest Civil War scholars of all time. If you're looking to learn more about anything Civil War-related, he's your guy.

And so begins the "I'd like to thank the Academy" last chapter A/N.

My thanks to **writersiouxchef **for pinch-hitting for me this chapter with her beta magic. T, you rock my socks.

And, as always and forever when I think of this story, my thanks to **averysubtlegift**, without whom our boys would probably be stuck somewhere in Chapter 7. C, I cannot thank you enough.

Thanks to **The Fictionators **and **The Edge Girls** and to **Rae_Cullen** at **So You Think You Can Write** for their recs. I know many of you are here because of them. And to everyone that has pimped in their own A/Ns, on Twitter, in forums, and anywhere else I'm not thinking of. Your kindness overwhelms me.

Finally, thanks doesn't seem a big enough word for what I'd like to say to all of you that have read, reviewed (and I will catch up on all replies when this chapter is done), alerted, mentioned, commented, or engaged in marathon e-mails with me about the Civil War (you know who you are). You have humbled me chapter after chapter with your thoughtful reviews and your insightful comments. Coppertopward and I are forever grateful.

There is a short outtake going in the Fics for Nashville compilation (shoot me a note if you'd like more information), and I have a few more outtake/sidetake/continuation ideas, so the characters will be back. I have also put myself up for auction for the Fandom Gives Back, so I suppose you might see more of CTW and friends after that.

My last request to you is this: should you ever find yourself in the vicinity of any of the places I've woven into this story, I implore you to stop. Take a few minutes and imagine the events that took place on those fields 145 years ago. Remember that every man on the field had a story, and that I've just made one up to fit a set of characters, but that hundreds of thousands of men and boys (and girls) really did bravely confront one another where you stand. This story was inspired by a trip to Gettysburg several years ago. Perhaps your visit will inspire another one.


End file.
